Home Construction, Soul Repair
by KhakiGrrl
Summary: Fifteen!!! Yep, part 15 is here.
1. POV: Jane

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part One**

**by [Khaki][1]**

**Rating:** PG13  
**Category:** Drama  
**Disclaimer:** I don't even own a copy of the movie yet.  
**Archive Rights:** Someone wants this? Just ask.  
**Author's Notes: **This is based on Jane's observation in the Animal Husbandry book that Eddie's residential area doesn't seem very safe.  
**Summary:** Jane and Eddie deal with serious problems at the beginning of their relationship. [Ananova picks on Eddie; I pick on Jane. :-) ]

**********

_POV: Jane_

"I'll get some wine. Meet you upstairs," Eddie says, giving me a kiss before turning and entering the bar. 

This day has been unbelievable. First, I admit on national television not only that I wrote an article under the name of a fake, elderly doctor, but also, that I'm in love with Eddie Alden. Second, I confess my love again to the aforementioned Eddie, who only caught the first half of my live, well-broadcast humiliation before running away. Third, he pulls me into an unbelievable kiss. And now, fourth, we're home and there's the promise of wine and more. 

It's the "and more" that has me especially interested. I haven't had "and more" since Ray, but Eddie's different. He's like no other man I've known. 

I wasn't looking to fall in love with the office slut, but living with him, day in, day out, showed me a man who was just as confused about love and relationships as I was. Our only difference was how we reacted to rejection. He had one-night stands to avoid relationships and potential hurt. I overanalyzed men and looked to nature to explain why I was always getting dumped.

Neither of us was looking for a relationship, so we dropped our defenses and facades. We got to really know each other, faults and all, and found we had a lot in common.

Usually when I fall in love, there's a standard protocol. Liz is informed, and we analyze every word, every expression, anything that happened when I first met "the one." Then, I try out the sound of my first name with his last, devising all sorts of variations and hyphenations of what my married name will be. Next, the wedding is imagined and a calendar is inspected to determine the perfect date of our nuptials. The number of children and what they will look like follows, with a detailed analysis of which names will be perfect with his last name. Then, it's about time for our first date. 

Ok, I'll admit I do take things a little fast and set myself up for big disappointments, but I'm in my thirties and only have so many years left on my biological clock. I've gotten so desperate to fall in love and get married that I attract exactly the wrong kind of guy: one who likes the idea of settling down, but is terrified of commitment when faced with the reality of it.

Now I realize that I've never been in love with a man before. I've been in love with the idea of marriage and commitment. I've been in love with a perfect apartment and a perfect life, but I've never been in love with the man I was planning to include in this vision. With Eddie, I'm not imagining a perfect future; I'm enjoying an imperfect but wonderful present.

All of these thoughts run through my mind as I climb the stairs to our apartment and open the door. When I flick on the lights in the cavernous main room, a chill runs through me. I always get this feeling when Eddie's not here. It's too big, too quiet, there's too many places for someone to hide.

I know, I know. I've seen way too many horror movies. There's no one here. There's never anyone here, and besides, Eddie's just downstairs.

A smile comes back to my face. Eddie and wine. We've never drunk anything but hard liquor together. "Morphine for the pain," Eddie always said in his clumsy way of comforting me while still wallowing in his own loss.

I wonder if Becca understands what she's given up in Eddie. He loves so deeply that he mourned her loss for years. He denied himself any meaningful relationships to remain, in a twisted way, faithful to her. No, I'm sure she doesn't know what she's lost and I'm glad. She deserves any unhappiness she gets for hurting such a wonderful man, and now, I alone receive his attentions.

Speaking of which, I'd better get ready for him. What to wear? What to...

A strong arm wraps around my throat as I walk through the door to my room, and I scream.

"Shut up!" the man behind me orders as he tightens his hold on my throat. "I thought you said they'd be gone all day."

Another man steps out of my closet. He's about my size but at least twice my weight. I think... yes, I've seen him before, in the bar downstairs. I don't know who he is, but I've seen him.

"They don't get off work until at least six and then they always go to the bar first," the chubby man answers. "What are you doing here?"

"Left... early," I croak around the choke-hold.

"What about Alden," the deeper-voiced, bigger man asks, shaking me a little.

"He's right behind me," I answer too quickly.

"Yeah, sure," the taller man replies. 

He releases his hold on my throat, grasping my arms instead and spinning me around to face him.

After giving me an appraising look, he says, "You're a thin little thing, but you'll be good for some fun."

I try to pull away from him, but his grip is like steel. I change tactics, planting a high-heeled kick to his groin, and his hands release as he falls to the ground.

"Get... her." he gasps through gritted teeth to his partner, but tubby doesn't move. They're blocking both the door and Eddie's remodeled hole, so the only way out is the window. 

I run over there and tug on the old, warped wooden frame, but it only opens an inch. I groan in frustration, putting all of my strength into pulling, but it's too little, too late.

A vise-like hand grabs my arm, and I'm suddenly flying through the air. There's a moment of surreal momentum, and then I slam into the wall opposite the window. With a wet crack, pain blossoms in my side and I wonder if I've broken some ribs. 

Before I can even take a breath, I'm airborne again, shooting through the plastic curtain and out into the main room. I land on my back and the pain in my side is almost blinding. I try to catch my breath, but I can't, and the coppery taste of blood flows up from the back of my throat. I try to scream, but it comes out more like a squeak. When I open my eyes, I can see the chubby one sneaking out the front door while the stronger one stalks towards me, rage twisting his face.

I try to get up or at least crawl away, but I can't even sit up or move my right arm away from its protective hold on my side. He grabs and throws me again, and this time, I'm flipping over the couch. I put out my left hand to catch myself, but it gets caught in the cushions while my body keeps flipping over. My wrist bends backwards to meet my arm in an electric surge of pure agony.

I scream. 

It doesn't matter that I can't catch my breath, I still shriek. The ache of my ribs is inconsequential in comparison to this wrenching torture. 

Vaguely, I hear my attacker yelling, "Shut up, bitch!" but I can't stop. The pain is everywhere, shooting from my arm through my entire body and overwhelming my senses.

I'm roughly turned onto my back, and huge hands clamp down on my throat, finally silencing my voice.

From movies and TV, I always thought that being choked was just like holding your breath. It's not. There's pressure. Incredible, crushing pressure on my throat, cutting off my airway. It feels like something going to crunch under the assault, and I have to stop it.

I try kicking up at the body above me, and I make solid contact once before he sits down on my legs and starts banging my head rhythmically against the wooden floor. With each strike, my vision narrows, the edges becoming fuzzy and dark. 

My lungs are burning as every cell in my body screams for air. I open and close my mouth like a fish, trying desperately to pull even a wisp of sweet air through my crushed throat. Nothing comes.

I'm going to die.

I don't think about how short my life's been. I don't flash through what I've done and what I should've done better. Instead, I think of Eddie. He'll be the one to find my body. It will hurt him so deeply, but I hope he'll recover. I want him to have happiness in his life. He seemed so relaxed, so right, when I left him downstairs.

Oh no. How long has it been? Will he arrive only to be killed, too?

A new surge of energy flows through me, and I strike blindly up at my killer. I felt my right hand connect, but my blow didn't have any effect. The grip is still tight on my throat and my head is being hit even harder against the floor. 

The pain floats away as my vision darkens completely. My last thought is, "I love you, Eddie," and then I surrender to unconsciousness.

**********

See part two.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	2. POV: Eddie

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Two**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Eddie_

It's three in the afternoon, why the hell is the bar so crowded? It's not a holiday, there's no big game on, I can't think of one reason why... Oh, I see it. There's a party going on towards the back. Looks like most of the people here are with that group. Terrific, that means I have to wait behind all of these people before I'll get served.

For one moment, I think about just turning around and joining Jane upstairs, but I sidle up the bar instead and wait my turn. I'm not quite sure what I feel when it comes to Jane. I need a few minutes to sort it out.

When she admitted on the air that she was that anti-male psychologist, I felt so... betrayed. Then she chased after me and told me that she loved me and I just felt... well, I don't know. Confusion was most of it, but not all.

Don't get me wrong, she's a great gal and has become a real close friend, but when she said all that stuff, I just had to pull her close and kiss her. I felt more than friendship when we did that, too. It's been so long, years since I felt anything close to that.

After Becca dumped me, I didn't think I'd ever love again, but I think there might be a bit of love there. There sure as hell is a lot of like. I can see living with her for a long time. She sure keeps things interesting, and that's not only because of today. She's smart and we can talk for hours on just about anything. She's the first woman I've really bothered to get to know in years. 

Not that I haven't been with women. I just stayed closed off and never really bothered to get to know them. All I was ever looking for was a night or two of fun and a quick goodbye.

I don't want that with Jane. Sure, I want the fun, but that's not all. That's not even a big part of it, really. I just want Jane, everything about her, anything she wants to share with me. I want to share myself with her.

"Hey, Eddie," Rob says as he finally finishes up with the group of customers and walks over to me. "The usual?"

He already has a napkin down and is turning to grab the bottle when I say, "Nah, need a bottle of... champagne."

Yeah, not wine. We're celebrating. Champagne's right.

"Champagne, huh? Got a gal upstairs? You usually ask for wine."

"Yeah, well, she's no ordinary gal."

"New wife, huh?"

That's what I'd always say when a met a new woman. That she'd be my perfect wife. Of course, after a few dates, I'd find a problem with the "wife" and move on. Jane's not like that.

"No, Rob, it's not like that any more. She's it."

"Yeah, right," he says, casually dismissing me. 

He doesn't understand, but he'll see. I can feel it. Everything's changing.

I grab the hefty bottle and make my way out to the stairs and up to our apartment. *Our* apartment. That's the way it is. That's how it's been for a while. How'd I miss noticing that until now?

Jane's doing something in there. I can hear a loud, hollow thumping sound. 

I pull out my keys, but when I put the first one in the keyhole, the door pushes open. Jane's lived in New York for years. What's she doing leaving a door open? Well, she was expecting me to be right up. She probably just left it open for me.

I open my mouth to call to her as I walk through the door, but my call dies in my throat when I see a man's head and shoulders peeking up from behind the couch where he's crouching. He's rocking back and forth in time to the beating sound, and I realize he's pounding something on my hardwood floor. What the hell is this guy doing in my apartment and what's he doing to my floor? It's not the super. Could it be someone working for him?

I walk towards him, but he hasn't seemed to notice me yet. He's totally focused on whatever he's doing.

When I come around the kitchen counter, the realization strikes me like a punch. Jane's feet are poking out from behind the couch. She's there and she's trapped beneath him.

With a wordless scream, I launch myself over the couch and at the guy, swinging the champagne bottle at his head like a club. I have to get to Jane. She's gotta be ok. He... I'm gonna kill him. 

I hear a crack when I make contact, but the bottle doesn't break over his head like I'd expected. He collapses on top of Jane, and I hit him two more times, yelling at him to get off of her. It's only then that I realize he's unconscious, and I gotta move him myself. It takes some pulling and a few kicks but I finally get him moved. 

That's when I finally get a glimpse of Jane. There's blood surrounding her head like a halo and still spreading out as I watch. He beat... her head... I wanna pick her up, just hold her close and make sure she's ok, but I don't want to risk hurting her anymore. I've gotta get help.

The phone. Where's the phone? I stumble up away from her broken body to the portable kitchen phone before returning to her side.

Nine-eleven. Gotta call for help. I look down at the numbers and am momentarily baffled. I've pressed in the nine, but where's the eleven key? Eleven, eleven. I need... Wait, not eleven. One-one.

"Nine-one-one, do you have an emergency?" a tinny voice asks after a few rings.

"Yeah, my girlfriend. She's bleeding and she needs help, now!"

"Ok, I have your address on my screen. Calm down. I'm sending an ambulance now. What are her injuries?"

"Her head's bleeding. I don't... I don't know what else. The guy was just beating her head into the floor."

"A guy? Is he still there? Do you need police, too?"

"Yeah... I hit him and he's passed out, but he's still here."

"Ok, I'm sending another ambulance and officers should arrive soon. Now, about your girlfriend. How much blood is there?"

"A lot and there's more coming."

"You said he was beating her head on the floor, right?"

"Yeah."

"There might be a skull fracture. Try not to touch the wound. Ok, let's check ABC. Airway, Breathing, Circulation. Is she breathing?"

"I dunno. I don't want to hurt her. How do I..."

"Bend over, tilt her head back, and put your cheek close to her mouth. You need to listen for breathing, feel for any air on your cheek, and watch to see if her chest rises."

I do as she tells me, listening, feeling, and watching for any sign of life. 

"I don't think she's breathing."

"It's only been a couple seconds. Give it a little more time."

I give it a few more seconds, but she's totally still. 

"No, she's not... What do I do!?"

"Pinch her nose shut, cover her mouth completely with your own, creating a seal, and give her four, quick breaths, watching to make sure her chest rises."

I put down the phone, follow her instructions exactly, and then pick it back up and ask, "Now what?"

"Put your index and middle finger on her neck just to the side of her windpipe and feel for a pulse."

"I... Yeah, I got one."

"Good. Now, you need to breathe for her every five seconds. Count to yourself, 'one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, breathe.' Repeat that for about a minute and then check to see if she's breathing again."

I do just like she says. It's exhausting, but I'm doing ok. Then after about a minute or so, it starts getting harder and harder to get her chest to rise. After a couple more sets, my breath just comes back at me and her chest doesn't rise at all. Frantically, I pick up the phone.

"It's not working anymore! I can't get any air in!"

She asks me more questions and then she tells me to go check that the door's open for the paramedics and check her for any other injuries she might have. It's busy work, and I know it.

"Dammit! She's not breathing!"

"I know, but there's nothing more we can do until the paramedics arrive."

**********

See part three.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	3. POV: Eddie

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Three**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Eddie_

Screw waiting. Jane's dying here, right in front of me. There has to be something I can do. 

I bend over and try breathing for her again, but there's no difference. I can't get any air into her. It's like something's blocking it. Gingerly, I pull her jaw open, trying to see what's causing the problem. 

Her tongue looks like it's fallen back in her mouth. Could that be what's... I crouch lower, trying to see better, when I hear voices in the hallway. The door's still wide open, and I can hear them coming from the other end of the building.

"Hey! In here!" I yell, desperate to get Jane help. I'm sure not doing her any good. She needs someone who knows what the hell he's doing.

Two officers edge into the apartment, guns drawn. They see me across the room and the older one yells, "Police! Freeze!"

"Hey, hey, I'm the one who called you guys! Put the guns down."

"Where's the attacker?"

"Over here behind me. Unconscious. Where's the paramedics?"

"They're behind us."

"Well, get them the hell in here!" I demand. 

They ignore me, carefully walking into my apartment with guns still up and ready. They make their way around the kitchen counter and over to the couch. It's only when they see the guy on the floor that they relax.

"All clear," the older one shouts and then the paramedics race in.

Thank heavens. There's four of 'em, but only two come over to help me with Jane, a guy and a gal. 

"She's not breathing. You gotta help her."

The guy starts going through his gear, but the gal's kneeling down by Jane's head. I scoot over to get out of her way, but still stay with Jane, grasping her hand with mine. 

"Oh," I gasp. There's something really wrong with her hand here. It's moving around loosely, at angles it shouldn't be able to make. I set it down quickly. "Hey... Hey, I think her arm's broken."

"First things first. How long has she been like this?" the gal asks as she fishes around in her box and pulls out a long plastic tube and an L-shaped piece of metal.

"I... I don't know. When I got to her, she wasn't breathing. I called for help right away, so however long that was... Five minutes or so?"

She doesn't answer me. Her face is scrunched up in concentration, and she's using that piece of metal to sweep Jane's tongue out of the way to try to get the tube down her throat.

From her expression, I think something's wrong. Should it be taking this long?

"Paul, get over here. I need crycoid pressure."

The guy, Paul, puts his hand on my shoulder and nudges me further over so he can help. I won't leave Jane, though. I can't. Reaching out, I grasp onto her ankle. It's like if I can just touch her, she'll know I'm here and she'll be ok.

Paul puts his hand on her freshly bruising throat, but whatever he's doing doesn't seem to be helping. The gal still can't get the tube in.

She looks up at him in frustration. "There's too much swelling. I can't see the cords. I can't even get the tube to move."

"Let me try, Nat," Paul says, and they switch places. 

It doesn't seem to be working for him either.

Every second that passes, Jane's dying a little. You can't survive without air for very long. They have to help her now.

"Do something!" I demand.

"We're working on it," that Nat gal counters. Then she turns to her partner. "Whaddaya think? Trach?"

He nods. "Only way."

They put away the tubing they'd been working with and pull out some different stuff along with a nasty looking scalpel.

"Hey, what're you doing?"

"Look, her throat's swollen shut," she snaps, exasperated. Then she takes a deep breath and explains more calmly, "Sorry. I know you're upset. We need to cut into her throat to bypass the swelling and help her breathe."

My mouth's so dry it feels like I've never had a drink in my life. That sounds horrible. Still, if they have to... "Do it. Whatever. Just save her."

There's less blood than I expected. They do it quick and soon Paul's pumping air into Jane using a plastic bulb while Nat's gently wrapping her head wound with gauze. I'm just relieved that she's finally breathing again. How long did she go without air, three minutes, five minutes? Will the lack of air cause permanent damage?

I'm so caught up with Jane, I don't hear the officer talking to me until he puts a hand on my shoulder and says, "Hey, I asked you a question."

"What?"

"Is this your apartment?"

"Yeah," I answer and turn back to Jane.

"I need to take a statement from you," He continues.

"Can't it wait?" I need to stay with Jane, at least until she's at the hospital and in good hands.

He pauses for a moment and then answers, "Yeah, ok."

I go back to focusing on Jane. I give her ankle a little squeeze and will her to hang on. She's got to. We're just starting something. She can't leave now. Not when I'm just realizing how much I really care for her.

I just watch and hope as Nat finishes with the head bandages and puts a brace on her swelling arm. Soon, they're ready to move her to the stretcher, and I have to let go of Jane for a second to let Paul move her. 

I'm back, right by her side out to the ambulance and during the ride to the hospital through traffic. There were some times when we came to a complete stop. New York drivers. The sirens blared away but it didn't do much good. It was like every driver was deaf. Made me so mad I wanted to go out and make 'em move.

Finally, we got to the hospital and they took Jane away from me. One of the nurses led me to the crowded waiting room, but I couldn't sit still. Not when Jane's barely holding on in there. I've gotta know what's happening. I have to do something, talk to someone.

Liz. I'll call Liz. She's Jane's best friend. She'll know who else to call, friends, family. Jane'll want all the support she can get. 

I look up M Magazine's main number and ask the receptionist to connect me.

"Liz Davis," she answers after three rings.

"Liz," I start, then... well, I don't know what to say. How do you tell someone news like this? Hey, your friend got attacked while I was downstairs buying champagne and she might not recover, but I'm real sorry?

"Liz, it's Eddie."

Something in my voice must've given it away 'cause she answers, "Oh no. It's Jane, isn't it? What's wrong? Where is she?"

"She's... well, she's been hurt but she's at St. Vincent's Hospital, and..."

Her voice cracks with emotion as she asks, "The hospital? Is she going to be ok?"

"I... I don't know yet, but I think so. Just... I don't have any phone numbers. I need you to call everyone she'd want down here."

"Yeah... yeah, right, ok," she says with a sniffle.

I say my goodbyes, and when I get off the phone with Liz and turn around, that cop from back at the apartment is waiting for me.

"Can I ask those questions now?"

I sigh. There's nothing left to do, at least not until the docs update me or Liz shows up. Might as well.

He leads me outside, where we might have at least a little privacy, and as I follow him, I can feel all the adrenaline just flowing out of me. I need a smoke so bad now.

Once we sit down on the curb, I pull out a Marlboro and offer him one. He shakes his head, so I pocket the pack and light up. The nicotine's already starting to settle my nerves when he says, "Let's start with you telling me exactly what happened."

So, I do. I don't miss one step, especially about how I found Jane. That image'll stick in my nightmares for years.

While I keep coming back to Jane, Officer Miller keeps asking about the guy in my apartment. Did I know him? Had I ever seen him before? What did I hit him in the head with? Why did I hit him more than once? Did I try to help him like I did Jane?

"The guy broke into my house and was killing my girlfriend!" I burst out, jumping to my feet and yelling around my fifth or sixth cigarette. "I don't care about him. She could be dying in there 'cause of him."

Then the cop asks a question that makes my jaw drop and my cigarette butt fall to the ground. "He's dead. Did you mean to kill him?"

**********

See part four.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	4. POV: Eddie

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Four**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Eddie_

"What?!" Did he just say what I think he...

"He's dead." He sighs and wipes his hand across his mouth. "You put a few nice-sized dents in his skull. C'mon, you had to know you killed him."

"I... I..." 

I *killed* him? When I saw him, what he was doing to Jane, I just exploded. I wanted him off of her. I wanted him gone, but I didn't... I've never really hurt anyone in my life. Well, except when I was a kid, but those were just playground fights. Now, I'm a murderer?

No. I had to do it to help Jane. She was... I can't bear to think about what he did to her. The blood. The pain. The fear. I should've been there. I could've stopped him. 

The guy deserved to die... No, he deserved a whole lot worse. 

"Hey, you ok?"

I stop. I've been pacing back in forth without really realizing it, and my hands are clenched so tight they're starting to hurt. I close my eyes, forcing myself to release my fists while taking a deep breath.

"Yeah," I answer once I think I can speak without my voice shaking. "I... I killed him in defense." So much for a steady voice.

"From your statement, that's what it sounds like, but we have to be thorough. I should warn you. The crime scene investigators are going through your apartment inch by inch. If there's anything else you need to tell me, something to change about your story, you should say it now."

"That's what happened!" I yell in frustration. 

How dare he? I told him the truth. In fact, I must've told him the same story at least ten times before he told me about the dead guy. I've been more than patient. I mean, that guy was in *my* apartment, I'm not the criminal here. He was probably trying to steal my stuff while Jane and I were at work, or maybe, he was waiting for us. Could he have been after Jane? They were both clothed when I came in, but that doesn't mean he didn't try something. What if...

I should have been there! It was damn stupid to go for that champagne.

One thing's for sure. I won't be letting Jane out of my sight for a long time. Of course, that's only if she survives. She still wasn't breathing when they pushed me out of the trauma room.

How long have I been out here with this cop? Has a nurse or someone come looking for me while we've been talking? I have to get back in there and check.

"Eddie!" a frantic voice calls to me, and I turn to see Liz stumbling out of a cab. She throws bills at the driver and runs towards me.

"Where is she? What happened? Is she gonna be all right?"

When she reaches me, I put a hand around her shoulder and say, "C'mon, let's check."

I walk her towards the emergency room entrance, cocking my head around to see Officer Miller. "We're done, right?"

"For now," he answers.

-----

Liz and I didn't find out very much when we went inside, just that Jane had been taken for a CT scan and that we should go to the waiting room. Liz said that a few of Jane's other friends are on their way, but her sister is still in the hospital across town. She and her husband asked Liz for regular updates.

Finally, after at least another two hours, we finally see a doctor. She looks like she just got into high school, but she's wearing a white coat and she's got information about Jane, so I'm will to overlook her age and the nose ring for now.

"Ms. Goodale has three broken ribs and a bruised lung on the right side. five breaks in the left wrist and arm, and a grade three concussion from a head trauma. We've stitched the head wound and the CT scan doesn't show any skull fractures or bleeding, but we will need to monitor her closely for at least 24 hours, The wrist fracture will require surgery, but we've splinted it for now. We don't want to risk any anesthesia until we've given her some time to recover from the concussion. Now, are there any questions I can answer for you?"

"How's her throat? Can she breathe?" I ask, while Liz asks at the same time, "What's a grade three concussion?" Jane's other friends ask more general questions about how she's doing or when they can see her.

The doctor starts with my questions and works her way down the line. 

"She is breathing on her own now, but she'll have to keep the trach for another few days. The swelling and bruising is extensive. We're administering anti-inflammation medication that have opened up her throat a little, but it will take some time before it's sufficiently healed and we can remove the tracheotomy. Until then, she won't be able to speak."

At least she's breathing. She's not in a coma. She's not a vegetable. She'll be ok.

"As for her concussion, a grade three just means that she lost consciousness. It took a while before she opened her eyes, but..."

"She's awake?" I interrupt.

"She's resting," the doctor corrects. "We have to wake her up every hour over the course of the next 24 hours at least to ensure the damage isn't more severe."

"But she's awake right now? Can I see her?"

That's got everyone asking the same question.

"You can see her, but no more than two people for no longer than 5 minutes at a time."

No one's interested in asking the doctor any more questions. We all want to see Jane.

Liz and I get to go in first, but as soon as I see her, I know that hospital rules and all her other friends be damned, I'm not leaving her alone in here. 

She looks so tiny and weak, the paleness of her skin so close in hue to the white sheets she's wrapped in and so starkly contrasting the deep blue and purple bruises wrapped completely around her neck. It looks so raw, and I can just make out the outline of the hands that caused this damage in her skin.

"Oh, Jane," Liz says through hitched breaths as she spreads her arms and lurches towards Jane's prone form. I stop her before she can give Jane the hug she'd been attempting.

"Eddie," she says with irritation.

"Gentle," I remind her.

I want to touch Jane, too, but I don't want to hurt her when I do it. Her hands aren't an option. The left one is wrapped up and swollen to twice it's size and the right one has an IV and sensors hooked to it. I think about putting a hand on her arm or shoulder, but that might upset her ribs. I could stroke her hair, but her head might be hurting. I decide to hold her like I had in the ambulance and reach out for a sheet-covered ankle, motioning to Liz that she should take the other one.

Jane's been watching us as we clumsily jockeyed for position around the bed, but her expression hasn't changed. It seems distant, like she's only half here, and there's something wrong with her eyes.

Releasing my hold on her ankle for just a moment, I lean closer, whispering, "Jane?" as I get a better look at her eyes. Now I can see what was troubling me. The whites of her eyes are red.

I turn to the doctor, who escorted us into the room, and whisper, "Why are her eyes red?"

"Pinpoint hemorrhages," she answers in a low voice. "From the strangulation."

I've never considered myself to be a violent man, but right now, I want to bring that guy back to life just so I can kill him again, slower this time. He did this. He hurt the sweetest, kindest person I know, and he deserves to suffer.

A weak hand brushes against my arm, and when I look down, I can see Jane's bloodshot eyes focusing a little on mine. She starts moving her hand, like she's writing, and I turn back to the doctor.

"She wants to write. Can we get paper and a pen?"

Doctor Langley, her name tag shows, shakes her head. "I don't want to wear her out. You only have a few more minutes anyway."

Of course, while she was turning us down, Liz pulled out a pen and pad of paper from her purse, handing it to me.

"Here you go, babe," I say as I put the pen in her grasp and position the pad under her hand on the bed. 

Jane scribbles out a distorted, *What happnd?*

Oh hell. What should I say? Should I tell her everything? What if she never remembers? Would it be better for her not to know?

I decide to be truthful, but vague. "There was a guy in our apartment. He hurt you, but you're in the hospital now. You're going to be ok."

"Yeah," Liz backs me up. "You're just fine, Jane. We're here now."

Jane writes *Hurts* over her first question, and I turn to Dr. Langley.

"She's in pain. Can't you give her something?"

The doctor shakes her head. "We can't give her too much until we're sure the head trauma is ok."

"Why not?" I demand, louder now.

The doctor drops her voice even quieter as she leans towards me and, emphasizing every word, whispers. "Because she could go into a coma."

Jane taps her pen down on the pad to get our attention, and I see there's a new question there, *Wher?*

"St. Vincent's Hospital," I respond. "They're taking real good care of you here."

"Ok, that's it, time's up," the doctor says, putting out her hands to escort me and Liz out.

"I'm staying."

The doctor just shakes her head. "No, you're not. We agreed on five minutes."

"And two people. I'll stay. Let someone else replace Liz." My voice leaves no room for compromise. Dr. Langley doesn't answer, but she also doesn't force me out. 

As we wait for the next person, Jane closes her eyes to rest. 

After several seconds, she opens her eyes and gives me a surprised expression. She moves her hand around and, feeling the pen in her grip, her expression changes to confusion. 

She then writes on the pad, *What happend?*

**********

See part five.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	5. POV: Eddie

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Five**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Eddie_

When Jane's friend LeAnn came in, I left her side for just a minute to talk with Dr. Langley out in the corridor.

"Jane's asking questions that I answered minutes ago like she doesn't remember what just happened."

The doctor nods like she already knew. "That's not uncommon so soon after a concussion. We're monitoring her condition closely. I wouldn't worry too much about her."

"You might not worry, but I do," I say, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "She's obviously disoriented and in pain. All you people seem to be doing is watch her go through it. Aren't doctors supposed to *treat* patients?"

"I've already told you. We won't be certain of her condition until at least tomorrow afternoon. We could easily push her into a coma if we aren't careful. If she doesn't improve, we'll do more tests."

"Like what tests? If you can do more, why aren't you doing it?"

"I'd like to do an MRI of her head and neck, but it can't be done with the trach tubing there. I'd rather not remove it until she's healed more."

"There's gotta be something you can do for her now."

"We're doing it. She's getting as much pain relief as we can safely provide. Right now, she needs quiet and rest, and she won't get that until you all leave her alone."

"Well then, tell them to leave."

She just sighs and says, "I already did if you'll remember. Everyone insisted on seeing her."

"Then, let's get them in and out quick."

"You know I'm including you when I say she needs to be left alone."

I shake my head in determination. "I'm not leaving her."

-----

"Jane, wake up." That's Adam, the nurse assigned to Jane for the night. 

I was totally against the idea of a male nurse, but it's not my choice. They're short-staffed so it's either him or no one. That's not an option for me or the hospital. Dr. Langley's also made it clear that if I complain any more, I'll be the one forced to leave, so I shut up and let Adam do his job.

Liz is to thank for getting me permission to stay the night. She convinced them that Jane and I are engaged. I'm deeply grateful to her. I don't know what I would've done if they'd sent me home. If anything happened to her when I was gone... What am I thinking about? Something's already happened to her while I was gone. That's what got her here in the first place. I'm not leaving her again so something else can happen.

It turns out that the sofa in here has a fold-out bed. Adam helped me get it out when he came on duty, but I don't plan to sleep in it much. They're waking Jane up every hour to check on her level of consciousness, and I'm going to be there every time she opens her eyes so she knows she's safe and she's going to be ok.

Liz went to our apartment after they sent her home and brought me some essentials and a few changes of clothes. She also grabbed some things Jane might want. There were still cops there so it took some convincing and phone calls before she was allowed to take anything away from the crime scene.

You couldn't accuse Liz and I of being great friends before this, we only know each other though Jane. After today, though, I've really come to appreciate her. Jane was right when she told me that Liz is her best friend.

"Jane?" Adam's voice again. 

It's louder now and tinged with concern. That concern finally breaks through my exhaustion, and I realize that my eyes are closed. Snapping them open, I see that I'm lying on the fold-out bed. Dammit, I must've fallen asleep. The room is dark except for the light above Jane's head, so it must still be night. I couldn't have been out too long. 

I pull myself up to my feet and walk to the other side of her bed, still shaking off weariness. Adam's got his hand pulled into a fist and he's rubbing it back and forth along Jane's breastbone. He looks confused, like she should do something about the rubbing and she's not.

"Jane, open your eyes... Jane."

He's stopped the rubbing and pulled out a penlight. Opening one of her eyes, he flashes the light in it and then pulls it away, watching for a reaction. He does the same to her other eye. Then, he starts knuckling her breastbone again. She still doesn't respond.

"Jane," I join in. She should be waking up. This isn't right. Why isn't she waking up?

Adam presses the call button above Jane's bed and then he starts shaking her shoulders gently.

"Jane, wake up," he orders.

"C'mon, Jane. Open your eyes, baby," I add, my worry building.

Another nurse comes in and Adam tells her to page the on-call doctor. This is bad. What's going on? Is she in a coma? Is she dying?

Adam tries something else, reaching over and gingerly picking up her splinted, swollen arm. At the movement, Jane moves her head to the side, causing both of us to react.

"That's it Jane," Adam says.

"C'mon, babe. You can do it," I encourage.

Adam sets down her arm and knuckles her chest a third time. Jane moves again, reaching up her good hand to brush him away.

"Yeah, Jane. Wake up. Wake up," I say.

With that, she does, squinting her eyes open and looking at both of us just as the doctor comes running into the room.

"What's the situation?" he asks Adam as he moves the nurse aside.

"She was unresponsive to regular and painful stimuli until I moved her injured arm. Then she started coming out of it."

The doc checks her eyes like Adam had with his penlight, commenting that they were "equal and reactive," whatever that means. In fact, he does a whole slew of tests and asks Jane several questions, telling her to blink once for yes and twice for no. She still looks groggy, but the doctor seems to be satisfied with her answers.

He turns to Adam and says, "Let's keep her awake for the next hour and then try letting her sleep again."

She looks so exhausted, and I wish we could let her rest, but I know we can't. I don't want to risk her falling asleep and not waking up again, so I spend the time between 2:14 and 3:14 in the morning helping Adam keep her awake. I talk to her about everything and nothing. Adam and I trade off telling her jokes. We even try flipping through channels on the TV, but there's nothing but infomercials and Jerry Springer re-runs on this late at night, so we quickly give up and go back to talking to her. 

Even though she tries nodding off, we keep her eyes open and keep her responding to our questions. After what seems like forever, Adam pages the doctor and he comes back, declaring Jane safe to resume her sleep schedule. Of course, that means Adam'll go back to waking her every hour, but at least she'll get a little rest. She needs every minute she can get.

-----

It's not until the next afternoon, when Jane's finally cleared to sleep undisturbed and declared well enough for orthopedic surgery tomorrow, that I remember the show. Jane and I left so suddenly yesterday that they probably have no clue what happened or why we're gone today. I've got to call in and let them know we're both going to be out for a while.

The phone rings four times in Diane's office before I get transferred back to the receptionist. It's Shelly, and I'm screwed. We had... well, let's just say we know each other pretty well, and after we... um... you see... she hates my guts.

All I got out was, "Hi, Shelly. Is Diane..." before I got cut off.

Diane should be in her office so I called and let it ring four times before hanging up and calling again. After about four tries without an answer, I called Ray. I've really come to despise him for Jane's sake over the past few months, but he is the Executive Director. If I can't reach Diane, he's the next in line to call. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, Ray. I tried calling Diane but she wasn't in her office."

"Hi, Eddie," he answers. 

Then, I hear Diane's voice in the background. "That's Eddie? Ray, give me the phone."

After I hear the phone being moved, I say, "Diane, I have to tell you..."

"Where'd you disappear to yesterday, Eddie? Jane left me with thirty-five minutes of dead air time to fill because of that little, romantic stunt of hers. I went from having the ungettable get to having nothing at all. We had to show a re-run!"

"Diane..."

"I'm the laughing stock of the business. We couldn't even exploit Jane's confession. If I'd had some warning, we could've gotten a real psychiatrist and discussed desperate, single women over thirty, but Jane gave me nothing."

"Now that's just..."

"Is she with you right now? Is that where you've both been all day? Well, you can tell her she's fired. You hear that? And if you don't get your ass into work in the next thirty minutes, you're fired too. I won't endure this unprofessionalism because you've found yourself a new office slut. Eddie. How dare you two embarrass me..."

"Screw you, Diane!" I yell into the phone. "I was calling to tell you Jane's in the hospital. She almost died yesterday, not that you'd care. That's where we've been. And if you expect me to race down to work on your pathetic show today, you can just bite me. I'm not leaving Jane alone."

With that, I slam the phone down on its handle.

**********

See part six.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	6. POV: Jane

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Six**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Jane_

Pain.

I'm not sure what happened to me or where I am, but the stabbing, shooting agony at every movement of my body is something I wish I could forget. My brain feels like it's wrapped in cotton wool. Everything is hazy, muffled. Then someone touches me, and the sharp torment brings everything to crystal clarity.

I'm in a bright room, tied down to a bed. I can't move. I can't speak. There's something sharp jabbing into my throat, forcing me to breathe. There are people surrounding me, touching and poking me all over. Who are they? What are they doing to me?

They speak and I can just make out my name, but their words are so fast. I can't grab onto them and force them into some sort of meaning.

Where's Eddie? Where's Liz? I need help. These people are hurting me. I can't stop them and... Uh! My arm. Someone's picked up my arm and is wrapping it up in something and I can't... They're torturing me. Why won't they stop?

Oh. They're rolling me onto my side and... my head, my neck. Someone's holding my head when they turned me and my neck... It feels tender, raw. Now someone else is feeling down my back and, ah, my ribs. Hands are pressing into them and it's like a liquid fire along my side.

Stop. Please just stop. Stop.

-----

Eddie. Eddie and Liz are here. 

I've been moved from the bright room and the mean people are gone, but nothing else has changed. I still hurt everywhere.

Eddie's saying something to me, but I can't make it out. His voice his shaking, and he looks scared and furious and sad all at the same time. I try to speak, but the thing in my throat is still there, and I can't get any sound out. Instead, I signal to him that I want to write. He gets a pad and pen from Liz, and I use them to ask my questions. 

He answers me and for a moment, everything makes sense. Then the knowledge breaks apart and floats away like it never existed, and I have to ask again. Soon, the pad is gone, and I can't ask anything.

Liz disappeared when LeAnn comes into the room, and now Eddie's gone, too. Where is he? He can't leave me here. I... I think they've stopped hurting me for now, but who knows when they'll come back? I need Eddie to stop them. He'll protect me.

LeAnn's talking to me. She's been a friend since college, and recently she... Mmph, she's... my head. She's stroking the top of my head above the bandage and... please, stop. It hurts. Please... it hurts.

"Hey!" Eddie's back. He's pushing LeAnn away, and he's yelling at her. My head still really hurts, but now that she's not touching me, the pounding is easing.

Once he's got her away, Eddie turns back to talk to me, and his voice changes from harsh to soft in a moment. He's... he's started touching me, gently on my leg. It's one of the few places on my body that doesn't hurt. It feels good, comforting, like he knows what I'm experiencing and he's going to help me through it.

More friends come and leave, but Eddie doesn't move and he doesn't let any of them touch me. They're all talking, but now they're starting to make a little sense. I'm in a hospital. Something happened at the apartment. Eddie saved my life. What could have possibly happened at the apartment? Was there a fire? I don't feel burned. What's wrong with me?

-----

It's quiet now. Eddie's still here, but everyone else is gone. 

He's turned off the lights so only the orange beams of the setting sun light the room through the gaps in the window shades and the room is finally calm. 

The pain is still there, my constant companion, but now that no one's moving me around or making noise, I'm starting to drift. My eyelids feel so heavy, and I just want to surrender to the weariness. My eyes close, and I can hear Eddie's soothing voice urging me to rest, then nothing.

-----

I hate Adam.

At least, that's what I think his name is. Maybe it's Alan. It could be Aaron. Anyway, whoever he is, I hate him. He's mean. He's sadistic. Of course, that's not too unusual here. It seems that no one working here does anything but hurt me. Aren't doctors supposed to help you? These people seem determined to find out where I hurt the most only so they can make it hurt even more. 

Even after moving me into a quiet room, they still haven't stopped tormenting me. They stopped hurting me, and I'd thought they'd let me sleep, but that was before I met Adam... wait, maybe it's Andy, or was it Alex?

I'd fallen into a pain-free darkness only to be yanked out of it when Adolph started talking to me.

"Jane... wake up. Jane."

So I woke up. I opened my eyes and waited for him to tell me what had been so incredibly important that he had to disturb an exhausted, pain-filled woman. Then, all he'd said was, "Ok, go back to sleep, Jane."

What? I'm tired, everything hurts, and he wakes me up just to tell me to go back to sleep?

Well, I did. I went back to sleep only to hear his voice seemingly two minutes later, waking me up again. This repeated, over and over, until it got to the point where I decided to just stay awake. Of course, it's so quiet in the room and sleep's the only way I can escape the sharp agony that comes whenever I move, so I eventually fall asleep, only to be woken up again.

It's like he was watching me, lying in wait just outside the door until the second I've actually fallen asleep, then he runs in and wakes me up again. 

Eddie's here, too, but he's not protecting me. Every time I wake up he's standing there, right next to Attila, but he isn't making any attempt to keep that evil nurse away from me. In fact, sometimes he's encouraging me to wake up, too. I just don't get it.

Sometime during the night, this annoying routine changed. I woke up with pain radiating through my body, focused mostly in my arm and my chest. What'd they do to me? My mind, everything's muddled, confused. 

Squinting my eyes open I see Eddie. His panicked expression melts into relief when his eyes meet mine and he squeezes my leg gently. Then a doctor runs in and decides it's a really good idea to shine a flashlight in my eyes. He asks the nurse from hell some questions and then tells them both to keep me awake.

I don't want to stay awake. I'm exhausted and I just want to rest, but they won't let me. Eddie's keeping up a constant stream of talk, peppering his comments with encouragement to keep my eyes open.

Sometime during his one-way discussion, he decided it'd be a good idea to tell me jokes. I've worked with Eddie for years, and I've pretty much heard them all. None of them are clean, and only a few of them are really funny. I'm starting to nod off and then Adam, or Arnold, or maybe Albert, wakes me up again by shaking my shoulder. 

Ok, that really hurts. What's Eddie doing here if he won't protect me? Why can't he just keep that sadist away for a few minutes? All I want to do is sleep, just for a little while. I don't think I'm asking for too much.

Finally, that flashlight-wielding doctor comes back and declares me ok to sleep again. I thought that meant I'd be left in peace, but I was wrong. After about five minutes, I'm being woken up again, and we're back to the old routine.

The evil male nurse leaves in the morning and an evil female nurse replaces him and keeps up the schedule. In fact, it isn't until the next day, afternoon I think, that I've finally been declared ok for sleep and cleared for a full dose of morphine.

Adam, Adolph, Attila, or whatever the hell he's called, is back, and he's got a needle. Actually, it's more like a spear. I didn't know they made needles that big, When I cringe away from his approach, I accidentally upset my ribs and now I'm wincing in pain.

Eddie's right by my side, rubbing my leg and whispering words of encouragement. He's calm, but then again, he can be. He's not the one facing the mother of all needles. 

Just when I think I'm going to be stabbed, the nurse grabs my IV line and inserts the needle into that. For the moment, I'm relieved, and then a few minutes later, I'm fantastic. 

I loooovvve Adam. He's the bestesttt ever nurse ever. No pain, just fllllyyyying, soooooo light.

There's Eddie. Hiyyaa, Eddie. You're soooo cute, ya know. You should jusssst wear black boxersss all the time, though. That'd beeee soooo much betterrrr. Yeahh. Lurrrve your chest. Yurr soooo...

-----

It's dark and I feel so good. No pain. Somewhere in the distance I can hear Eddie yelling, but it doesn't matter, nothing matters. I just stay where I am and sleep.

-----

Surgery. 

They woke me up early because they're going to operate on my arm today. It's doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did now that I've still got some of the drugs in my system, but I don't like the idea of an operation. 

Dr. Roberts, the ortho-something surgeon has been explaining it to me and Eddie, but I can barely follow him. I hope Eddie's paying attention. I stopped listening when he mentioned surgical pins. He needs to put them in because the ligaments and tendons are all messed up and a bunch of the bones are broken.

The operation'll take hours and, wait, did he just say... It'll take several months before I get the cast off. Is he kidding? Broken bones can't take that long to heal, can they?

"Jane."

That's the doctor talking to me. It must be important. Gotta pay attention here.

"Your throat's healed enough that we'll remove the tracheotomy tube while you're unconscious, so you'll wake up with only an oxygen mask." 

Well, that's good news, I guess. It feels weird to breathe without air going through my mouth or nose. My throat's so dry. Without the tube, I'll be able to at least drink something. Oh, and I'll be able to talk. Then, I can finally force Eddie to tell me exactly what happened. I still don't quite know how I got so badly injured.

-----

They've moved me into pre-op, and Eddie's gone. They wouldn't let him follow me past the white, swinging doors. I got one last glimpse of his worried face and then he disappeared.

I know they gave me some sort of drug before taking me out of my room, and it's making me feel so strange. Disconnected. It's almost like I'm observing everything that's happening to me from a distance. I don't mind that Eddie's not here. I don't really mind anything.

While I'm laying there, a female nurse pulls down my hospital gown and attaches heart monitor leads to my chest. Without the gown, I'm naked, completely exposed from the waist up to everyone in the room. While one part of my mind is shocked at this nurse's blasé treatment, most of me doesn't care. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

Soon, I'm being moved into the surgical theater. My gown is completely removed and the cool air prickles my skin before a blue sheet is thrown over my body. My arms are being pulled out so I'm spread eagle on the bed, but there's no pain anymore, just movement.

Someone's leaning over me now. His mouth and nose are covered with a mask and he's saying something to me, but I can't understand the words. They're too vague, too far away. 

I surrender, closing my eyes and allowing sleep to steal me away.

**********

See part seven.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	7. POV: Eddie

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Seven**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

With sincere and tremendous thanks to Ildi for her incredible drawing of this story. She's freshly inspired me. Check it out [here][2].

**********

_POV: Eddie_

I followed Jane all the way to the doors leading to the operating rooms before I had to turn back. They told me not to worry, that Jane should be fine, but that was after they made me sign the release form. How can they expect me to believe nothing bad will happen after making me read through and sign off on all sorts of possible complications that could result from this surgery? Jane could lose all feeling in her hand or lose her hand all together. She could hemorrhage, throw a blood clot, and have a stroke. She could have an adverse reaction to the anesthesia. Hell, she could go into a coma and die. 

It was so hard to walk back to the empty hospital room without Jane. I can't help feeling that something's going to go wrong. Fear and dread's building up in my chest with every step I take away from her until it's a palpable ache. 

When I finally get back to the empty room, I don't know what to do. The surgery'll take hours, but I can't just sit still and wait. After the attack, I swore I wouldn't let Jane out of my sight again, but here I am putting her life in the hands of strangers less than two days later.

For a short time, I busy myself by cleaning up the room. I make the pull-out bed I'd slept on for the night and fold it back into the couch. When that's done, I rummage through the things Liz had brought for me and Jane, putting some of Jane's pictures up on the walls and pulling out her favorite quilt for when she comes back.

After the room was clean and our things were unpacked, I went into the bathroom and cleaned myself up some, too. I hadn't really done anything about my appearance since all this happened. I haven't cared what I looked or smelled like, I was too worried about Jane, but right now, it just gives me something to do. Besides, washing up, a shave, and a change of clothes can't hurt.

When I finish, I walk back into the empty hospital room, but I can't think of anything else to keep me distracted. I sit down on the small couch and my mind invariably drifts back to Jane in surgery. My imagination provides all sorts of images of what her left arm might look like now, bone and muscle exposed to the air as they drive pins and screws in to stabilize the bone, and I can't help shuddering. They described the procedure to me in detail when they had me sign those legal release forms and now it's coming back to haunt me.

In an attempt to get my mind off it, I turn on the TV and start cycling through the channels. I don't bother to stop and watch any of the shows, I just keeping clicking past them. Nothing can hold my attention right now.

I don't know how many times I've circled the channels when the men walk into the room. They're both dressed in suits, but the cheaper variety, so it doesn't surprise me when they introduce themselves as detectives instead of doctors.

The older one says, "I'm Lieutenant Spenser, this is my partner, Lieutenant Hawkins. Are you Edward Alden?"

"Yeah. Eddie."

"Eddie," he corrects himself, "we have a few questions for you."

"Look, I told that other cop everything that happened. I didn't mean to kill him, I just had to stop him from hurting Jane."

"We have your statement, Mr. Alden, but we still gotta do our investigation."

"Ok, ask away," I say, settling back into the couch.

"It's not that easy, Mr. Alden. You haveta come back with us to your apartment."

"What? Why?"

"For one thing, it looks like your girlfriend interrupted a burglary in progress, but we didn't find any car or truck outside belonging to the perpetrator We need you to check out the place and tell us what's missing."

I shake my head. "Jane's in surgery."

The younger detective jumps into the conversation for the first time, asking, "How long until she's out?"

Sighing, I close my eyes and then answer, "They said it'd take five or six hours if everything went ok."

"Then you have time."

"I can't leave her when she's in surgery!"

"What are you going to do, sit and watch cartoons until she gets out?" the younger guy says, arching his head towards the T.V. It appears my channel surfing stopped on the Cartoon Network when they came in.

"Look," the older one, Lt. Spenser, says, sitting down next to me on the couch. "It's really important that we do this as soon as possible. You can use my cell phone. We'll get one of the nurses to call you with any updates, and if there's a problem, we'll race you back here with sirens and all."

"No. We'll do it later, when I know she's ok."

"We can compel you to come with us," the younger detective said, the threat plain in his voice.

"John," Spenser snaps before I can say anything. "Give us a minute, ok?"

John shakes his head and leaves the room.

"Ok," he says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "We believe you. All the physical evidence so far shows you just defended your girlfriend. You're not on trial here."

"That's not the problem. She's... something could happen to her in the operation and..."

"I know, just lemme finish ok? The physical evidence clears you, but it looks like... well, there might've been more than one burglar."

"What?!" I exclaim, standing up.

"We're not sure. That's why we need you to come check out the place with us."

"There's someone else out there. What if Jane saw him? What if he comes after her?"

"Calm down. Like I said, we're not sure. We need your help."

-----

Needless to say, I went with them. Lt. Spenser gave his cell phone number to the surgical nurse, and I made her swear on everything holy that she'd update me every hour. 

I'm so scared, terrified that something'll happen to Jane when I'm gone and I won't be able to get back to her in time. Still, what good was I doing her slowly going crazy in that empty hospital room? At least here, I'm doing something. If there's someone out there that's a threat to Jane, I'll make sure he's captured. 

There's police tape on the front door, but Spenser cuts through it quickly enough and then we're inside. I've had this apartment's for years. Becca and I picked it out together when we were just starting to get serious. Even when she left me, and I couldn't stand to look at the walls, I didn't leave. Sure, I knocked a huge hole through one of the walls, but that was it.

I told myself that I'd be crazy to leave a rent-controlled apartment this spacious, but that wasn't the reason I stayed. On my few hopeful days, I reasoned that I couldn't leave just in case Becca came back to me. On all the other days, I figured it was a good reminder of what would happen if I ever let someone close to me again. Every woman I dated eventually ended up here, and I'd prove to myself that I'd learned Becca's lesson well as I spent a night of meaningless sex with her.

Somehow, Jane got under my shields. She's the only woman that I've ever really gotten to know, the only one I've lived with. since Becca. Along the way, the apartment stopped being a Becca reminder and just became Jane and Eddie's home. A home that has now been violated.

When I walk in, I'm transported back to two days ago. A man straddling Jane, choking the life out of her. The crack of a champagne bottle striking a skull. Jane slowly dying in front of me as I wait for the paramedics. 

"Eddie," Lt. Spenser says gently. "Could you just walk us through what happened. What you saw. What you did when you first entered."

I tell them about how I walked in, not knowing what was going on, confused as to what the guy was doing in my apartment until I saw Jane. I lead them over to the couch and then I stop. 

Someone's made a half-hearted attempt to clean up all the blood, but the stains are still clear. I'm not surprised to see Jane's blood stains on the hardwood floor, although the sight makes my chest clench up. No, what catches my attention is the blood stains further past the couch, beyond where the coffee table'd been pushed in the struggle, all the way up to the entertainment center.

The stain is huge, and when I look closer, I can see little bits of something stuck in the textured door of the entertainment center. Crouching down next to it, I realize what it is. Grey matter. I beat that guy's head in so hard that his brains oozed out, and...

Clenching my jaw shut and half-stumbling, half-running, I make it to the bathroom just in time to be reintroduced to the breakfast bagel I'd gotten in the hospital cafeteria this morning.

**********

See part eight.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/khakigrrl/home.html



	8. POV: Eddie

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Eight**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Eddie_

Suddenly, what I'd done was all too real. I'd killed. I'm a murderer. I took a bottle of champagne and beat another man's brains in. Sure, he deserved it. That and much more. He'd pushed Jane as close as anyone can get to dying. She wasn't breathing when I got to her. If I hadn't stopped him... No, she's ok. The nurse just called saying the surgery was going fine. That's it, just stay focused on Jane. I can worry about the blood on my hands later.

I take my time in the bathroom, washing my face, brushing my teeth, trying to get the taste out of my mouth, trying to stop my hands from shaking. It's only when I get my nerves to settle down a little that I leave. Lieutenants Spenser and Hawkins are waiting for me.

"You ok?" Spenser asks.

"Yeah," I answer with a nod. "Let's get this over with."

"Ok," he says, leading me out into the vast main room again. "You'd just told us how you saw the guy when you came in. What happened next?"

I walk over and continue my account, trying not to look at where the body had fallen, where the man died without my notice. My hands start shaking again, so I stuff them in my pockets and focus on trying to keep my voice steady. I try to tell them exactly what happened in detached, emotionless words, but I don't think I did so well.

When I'm finally done, they ask me to walk around the apartment to see if anything is missing. I start in the bedrooms, anything to get away from the living room, but when I walk into my bedroom, I'm shocked.

My gym equipment and all the free weights are gone. The television set, gone. My computer in the corner of the room, gone. When I tell them what's missing, Lt. Hawkins says he'd noticed the scrapes on the floor and thought something heavy'd been moved. He asks me about the gym set, if one person could've moved it on his own. Even disassembled, I don't see how. It'd taken both Rob and I to get the base up the stairs when I bought the damn thing. No, there was someone else here and this is proof.

They tell me to continue through the apartment, and I find other things missing are in the bathroom. All my old prescriptions and even my over-the-counter medications are gone, like someone went through the cabinet and dumped everything into a bag. Also, my stash of condoms is missing. I start to mention that to the detectives, but stop myself. It's none of their business what I had in here.

Jane's room is next. There doesn't seem to be anything missing, but not everything's where it's supposed to be. Her television is on the floor by the door along with her jewelry case. While I'm looking, I notice a big dent on the other side of the door that I'm sure wasn't there before. I mention it to the detectives, and Lt. Spenser tells me in a gentle voice that the crime scene investigators found a few drops of blood there. They think the dent was caused by Jane's body being thrown against the wall.

I know he's trying to be careful of my feelings, but just the thought of Jane trapped with not one but two men trying to beat her to death makes my knees shake and buckle under my weight. 

"I should've been here," I say from where I now sit on the floor.

Lt. Spenser kneels down beside me. "Hey, man... Eddie. It's pretty clear this wasn't your fault, but we need your help to find the bastards who did this."

"What can I do?"

His partner, Lt. Hawkins, answers. "Finish looking through the apartment for missing items. Give us any information you have on the stolen goods, sales documentation, serial numbers, anything'll help. Make a list of the people who've been in here over the last month so we can match up fingerprints."

"I can do that."

Hours passed while I did exactly that. After everything else was done, I made as long a list as I could remember, giving it to Lt. Spenser. His partner got a look at it, though, and he's making a few comments about how many women's names are on it when Spenser's cell phone rings. After answering, he hands it to me, saying it's the hospital.

Jane's out of surgery. It went just as they'd expected. No complications. She's in post-op and should be transferred back to her room soon. 

"I've gotta go."

"What?" Spenser asks.

"We're done, right? I did everything you asked. Jane's out of surgery, and I have to go back."

"All right," he says with a nod. "We'll get you there."

-----

When I see her, she looks better and worse all at the same time. She's still pale with bruises standing in bright blue and purple relief on her skin, but her cheeks seem redder, more healthy. She still needs help breathing, but there's just an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, the vivid bruises on her neck covered with bandages over the tracheotomy closure. Her left hand and arm are still swollen and there's two pins poking out by her wrist, but the injury's been stabilized and they can elevate her arm in traction to relieve some of the swelling.

The nurse told me she'd woken up in post-op before they transferred her back to the room, but now she's asleep again. After what she's been through these past few days, she deserves all the rest she can get, so I try to be quiet.

Using the bedside phone, I call Liz, letting her know that Jane's ok. She'll update everyone else, but I strictly instruct her that there are to be no visitors except for herself until at least tomorrow. I don't want anyone upsetting or wearing Jane out. She needs time to recover.

Liz couldn't get off work today because of the magazine's deadline. She'd threatened to quit, but I told her not to. Jane and I are already out of work and we don't need Liz joining us in the unemployment line. Speaking of which, Liz did all the paperwork to get Jane on long-term disability since it'll take so long for her hand to recover, but I need a job. Not now, though. I've got some savings. It'll tide us over for a while. I don't think I could stand to have Jane out of my sight again right now.

Looking up at the woman dominating my thoughts, I notice that Jane's starting to shift on the bed, stopping almost as soon as she starts when her face scrunches up in pain. 

"Jane?" I ask as I stand up and move closer to her. "Jane, baby, it's ok. I'll get the doctor right now."

Dr. Roberts wanted to be paged as soon as she wakes up, so I press the nurse's call button and wait for someone to come in. Jane moans and whimpers a few times but she doesn't open her eyes.

"Mr. Alden?" the nurse... um, Kris, asks as she walks into the room.

"I think she's waking up, but it looks like it hurts. Could you get the doctor?"

Kris walks up to Jane's IV and presses a button on it before turning and leaving the room. Whatever she did seems to be helping. Jane's body seems to relax a little bit into the bed.

"Jane?"

Her eyelids start fluttering until they're open and her bloodshot, exhausted eyes are looking at me.

I can't keep the smile off my face as I greet her. "Hey."

Her brows knit together in confusion and she purses her lips together like she's trying to swallow, then she says, "Ehh... Ehh-dd... Ed-dee."

"Shh, it's ok. I'm here. You're ok."

Dr. Roberts strolls into the room with a broad grin on his face, saying, "So, how's our patient feeling this afternoon?"

"Thh.. thhuur-steee."

"Well, Kris, let's get this woman some water," Dr. Roberts says, speaking to the nurse that'd followed him in. 

After filling up a glass, the nurse moves Jane's oxygen mask and places a straw in between her dry, parted lips. Jane takes a few small sips before stopping, then takes a few more.

"Done?" Kris asks and Jane gives her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

Jane then says in a clearer voice, "Hur-ts."

"That's what this is for, Jane," Dr. Roberts says, holding up what looks like some sort of remote control that's attached to the IV tree. "We have you on a steady dose of painkillers, but if you need a little more, just press this button."

He places it in her right hand and she clicks it a few times right away.

"It's programmed to limit your intake," the doctor adds, adjusting it in her hand so she'll stop pressing it for a second. "We don't want you overdosing. You'll be able to get some more in a few minutes."

Then, he walks around the bed to get a closer look at her elevated arm. "Ok, now for the examination. I need you to move your fingers for me."

Jane complies, wincing while she wiggled her fingers. 

"Good," the doctor praises, following up with more instructions.

The surgeon's examination took about twenty minutes. It was only after it was over, when Jane had been allowed to comfortably settle in her bed and rest, that she spoke again.

"Ed-die. Whuu-t happ-nd?"

**********

See part nine.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	9. POV: Jane

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Nine**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Jane_

The first thing I notice is the hands on my body. Someone's moving me around, almost like they're dressing me. Distantly, I know this should bother me, but it doesn't. I'm too tired to care.

-----

There are voices around me now, telling me to wake up and open my eyes. 

I'm sleepy. Go away.

I try to slip back into the comforting blackness that I'd enjoyed only moments earlier, but these voices are persistent. They burrow into my dreams, dragging me up into the waking world. 

"Jane? Wake up. Open your eyes, honey."

Who are these people? Why are they bothering me? I didn't do anything to them. I don't think I even know them. And what's with that woman calling me "honey?" I don't recognize her voice at all.

Oh, there we go. The hands are back, and the voices have gotten louder. Maybe if I open my eyes, they'll leave me alone. If I do it quick, I don't think it'll wake me up too much.

There. Done. Now will you leave me alone? What was the point in this little exercise, anyway? It's too dark to see anything.

Why are they still talking to me, still telling me to open my eyes?

Oh, that's why it's so dark. Didn't actually open them at all. I wondered why I couldn't see anything. Now, blurry images of strangers are floating all around me. 

"She's conscious," one blurry object says.

"Status?" Another blob asks.

"Ready for transport. She's stable. We were only waiting to see how she came out of the anesthesia."

Yeah. Blah blah blah. I'm going back to sleep.

-----

Is that Eddie's voice? It sounds like he's talking to Liz, but I don't hear her. Is he talking to himself? Oh well, another mystery I'm not gonna wake up to solve.

You know, I never noticed how comforting Eddie's voice is. Deep, resonant, soothing. It has almost a musical quality. 

Wait. He's stopped. He said, "Goodbye." and it sounds like he hung up a phone. The room is really quiet now. So quiet I can pick up the sounds of springs coiling and fabric shifting as he sits down. So quiet I can just make out his breathing.

That's it. I'm waking up. I want to hear that voice again.

I blink my eyes open, but they feel really gummy, and I can't quite get them to focus. How long have I been asleep, anyway? I try to move my arms up to rub the sticky stuff away, but only my right one moves. My left arm's tied to something that's keeping it floating in the air. That's not right. I tug on it...

Bright electric sparks of pain shoot from my hand all the way up my shoulder and speed through my body. I squeeze my eyes shut against the racing agony. but it doesn't help. I can't catch my breath. Damn, it hurts so much!

"Jane? Jane, baby, it's ok. I'll get the doctor right now," Eddie says.

He's next to me now. I didn't hear him get up, but that's not surprising, what with my arm falling off. I want to look at him, reassure myself that he's really there, but it feels like if I relax even for a second, the pain will increase and overwhelm me. 

What did he say about a doctor? Yeah, that's a good idea. That's probably the most amazingly wonderful idea I've ever heard.

Now, I can hear a woman talking, but I still can't open my eyes, and... Oh, that's a little better. The sharp agony's fading, turning into a less sharp ache. I can even focus enough to hear her walking away. Wait, where's she going? Come back. Gimme more of the good stuff.

"Jane?" That's Eddie's voice again.

The fear and concern just in the way he said my name is so strong it's almost palpable. I want to reassure him that I'm all right. Well, not exactly all right, but at least I don't feel like I'll die if I open my eyes.

When I squint up at him, his face cracks into a crooked smile of pure relief.

"Hey," he says.

I try to answer, but sometime during my sleep someone replaced my voice with a toad's. My throat's so dry that I can barely croak out his name, and my voice sounds as raw and sore as it feels.

Eddie quiets me, telling me it's ok. Even though I know he's just saying that to reassure me, it still works. Just hearing him say that he's here watching out for me makes everything seem better.

A doctor comes in, and after getting me a nice, cooling drink of water, he introduces me to a magic button. He tells me to press it and... Ohh... yeah... The pain's fading to a dull ache. Mmm... I want more of that. I press the button a few more times, but it doesn't seem to work anymore. The doctor pulls my hand away, explaining how it works and that I'll have to wait before I can get some more. That's not very nice. Magic buttons should work all the time, right? 

The doctor's messing with my left hand. now. He tells me wiggle my fingers. Then, I have to touch all my fingers to my thumb, one at a time. Now, he's poking me with some sort of pin, telling me to let him know when I feel something. It's like I'm a prize poodle doing tricks, and even though a part of me's really annoyed, I just can't get up enough energy to protest. It's easier to just do what he says and hope that he'll leave quicker if I cooperate.

It's only when I get a good look at my hand, that my surprise and shock overcomes my lethargy.

"Whut... da helll?"

It's wrapped in a thick bandage from knuckles to elbow, looking almost like a cast, but with soft bandages instead of a hard shell. That, and there's two, straight metal pins poking out of my wrist. It looks almost like they stabbed me with metal knitting needles, but why would they want to do that? Why would Eddie let them do that?

The doctor, I think Eddie called him Dr. Roberts, explains what was wrong with my wrist. I've never had a broken bone in my life, but now I've got five just in my wrist and arm. The pins are actually there to fix my arm bone, the... um... radial, radius, something like that. The bones in my wrist had to be repaired differently. They've got screws in them. Little screws that hold the breaks together. Screws that will stay in there for the rest of my life.

His explanation's unnerving enough, but the guy's so proud of his handiwork that he pulls out X-rays and a portable display stand. There they are. Screws, in my hand, drilled through bone. There's a hardware store in my hand. No wonder it hurt so much. Thank heavens for magic buttons. 

I wonder. Will I still be able to go through metal detectors or will I make them beep? Eddie always said I was a little screwy. I guess the next time he tells me I have a screw loose, he might be right. 

Ok, now I'm getting silly. No more Eddie screwing jokes. Whoa. Now there's a mental image. What'd they give me when I pressed that magic button anyway? 

Wait. I missed something. The doctor's putting my arm back in the sling. I think he's done. Uh huh, he's leaving.

Eddie's still here, though. He's looking at me. Worry, relief, and a whole slew of other emotions are playing over his face. I want to ask him so many questions. Where are we? How did I hurt my arm? Why does my chest ache every time I breathe? How long are we going to be here? So many questions, but I know my voice won't stand up if I ask all of them, so I settle for an all encompassing, "What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Eddie asks me in return. 

Nuh uh. No fair. I can't talk very much. You're supposed to answer my question, not ask me another one. Oh well, let's see... I remember going to work, getting ready for the show, freaking out about being interviewed as Marie Charles by Diane on national television. 

"This morning," I answer. "Dr. Charles... will be... on show."

"You don't remember telling everyone you were Dr. Charles?"

Oh no, I didn't. What did Diane do? She must've blown up. I know I was feeling really nervous and guilty about it, but telling her right before the show... Wait. Did she break my arm?

Eddie's still talking. "Yeah, when you admitted to being Dr. Marie Charles on national television, I have to admit I was very surprised."

On national television? I'm lucky Diane didn't kill me with her bare hands. What was I thinking? What did I say? Hm, Liz was taping the show. I'm sure I can get her copy to see how badly I embarrassed myself. 

Think about it later, Jane. Listen to Eddie now.

"... And then I got out of the cab, and you told me you loved me... It was amazing, Jane. I don't remember the last time I felt so happy, so right."

I told him I loved him? This is Eddie Alden. I thought if I ever confessed how I felt, he'd run before I finished saying the words. It's not that I don't think he cares for me, it's just that he's so relationship-phobic, I didn't think I'd ever have a chance. Whatever I did seems to have worked, though. I wish I could remember exactly what it was so I can do it again. Still, none of this is telling me how I got hurt.

"... We went home for the rest of the afternoon. You went up first..."

He's stopped talking. He's running his fingers through his hair nervously, like he's not sure what to say next.

"When I got to the apartment..."

He's broken off again. Is that... I think his hands are shaking. He's jammed one in his pocket and he's started rubbing at his chin with the other one, keeping the palm over his mouth so the words are more muffled when he says, "You were... There was... We were robbed and you found... One of them was still there and he... That's why you're hurt. I stopped him. He won't hurt you again, but... Anyway, that's why."

Ok, did he just tell me what happened? I think I missed that. There was something about a robbery in there, but I didn't get any specifics. Still, his voice was trembling so much towards the end, I don't have the heart to ask him more about it now.

**********

See part ten.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	10. POV: Eddie

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Ten**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Eddie_

She's asking me what happened again. The last time I answered that question was two days ago. The concussion was still making her groggy, and she didn't remember what I'd told her after only a few minutes. This time, her eyes seem more focused than they've been in days. I think she's really here, with me, for the first time since the attack. What the hell am I going to say?

"Um... what's the last thing you remember?" I ask, trying to stall for time.

When she answers that she doesn't remember anything since the morning before the show, I start from there, telling her everything that happened in detail. The longer I can stretch out what she did on national television and what she told me afterwards, the longer I have to think of a way to... to tell her how I failed her. 

What if letting her know everything brings back all her memories, and she's haunted for the rest of her life by what they did before I got there? What if I can protect her from the pain by keeping the worst of it from her? What if someone else tells her and she hates me, not just for leaving her unprotected, but also for keeping her in the dark when she asked me for the truth?

I don't know what to do.

"... We went home for the rest of the afternoon. You went up first..." I say, and then catch myself. Dammit, no more time to stall. I have to tell her something. She notices that I stopped talking, and her brows draw up in curiosity.

"When I got to the apartment," I start, but then stop again. My throat's closing up. I just... this is so hard. I have to tell her, but I can't. I can't stand to even think about it. 

Oh hell. My hands are shaking, just like back in the apartment this morning. I can tell she's looking at them so I shove them into my pockets, trying to hide the evidence of my emotions. 

Just tell her. Take a deep breath and say it.

I tell her that she was hurt when our apartment was robbed, but that the man who hurt her won't do it again. I can't explain that I killed him. I can't really go into detail about anything. 

My right hand is up, rubbing my chin, covering my mouth. I didn't even notice I was doing that until I was done talking. It's like even when I was telling her what happened, I was trying to hold it back.

She looks even more confused now than when I started. I didn't tell her enough. I need to explain more. She's going to ask me about it again. 

Please, not now. I can already feel the tears in my eyes, unshed and burning. I'm going to lose it, but I can't. She needs me now, needs me to be here and be strong for her. I won't let her down again.

She reaches her right hand out for mine and I grasp it gently, careful of the IV and sensors on her hand and arm. My hands are still shaking a little, so I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and concentrate on making them still. After a few moments, I get myself under control, and I open my eyes again.

Her eyes are so intent, so focused on me, that I almost want to look away again. It's like she can see right through me, see everything I didn't say in my eyes. The moment feels like it lasts forever, but then a female voice breaks in.

"Janie? Are you in here?"

The door to Jane's hospital room pushes open and a woman in a wheelchair is pushed through by a man. They look familiar, but I can't quite place their faces until Jane asks in a weak voice, "Alice?"

Alice, it's Jane's sister. I met her and her husband for a second in that health club. I'd just seen Becca again, and... Hey. That's the first time I've thought of Becca without really feeling anything. Before, my heart would clench up every time I remembered her, but now... Nothing. 

"Oh, Janie, baby," Alice continues. "I came as soon as they discharged me. I had to see you and make sure you're ok."

"You were in... hospital. Why here?" Jane asks.

Now Alice looks just as confused as her sister, and I have to explain. "Jane. The show, everything I told you about before... It's been two days. You've been in the hospital two days."

"Two days?" she asks in wonder.

"They just released me from the hospital," Alice explains, and Stephen, her husband, adds, "They sent you home for bed rest."

"Alice?" Jane asks, concerned.

"I'm going to be fine. Stephen worries; you know that. I just wanted to stop by and see you first. What happened, Jane? Are you ok?"

Jane opens her mouth to answer, but I ask, "Didn't Liz explain everything to you?"

Alice turns to me and says, "She said Jane was almost killed in a burglary, that she needed surgery. I didn't get specifics, and I haven't talked to Jane. I want to know if my *sister*," she emphasizes, "is all right. Do you mind, Eddie?"

"She doesn't remember what happened," I counter.

"Janie, is that true?"

Jane nods, but her face is a mixture of shock, bewilderment, and dismay. "I almost died?"

"Yes," Alice confirms before I can stop her. "Liz told me Eddie found you barely alive. Speaking of which, where were you, Eddie? If you both left the show at the same time, why did Jane enter that apartment alone?"

"I was downstairs," I whisper so softly that I can barely hear it, but Alice still picks it up.

"Downstairs? Doing what?"

"B... buying... buying champagne," I answer, my voice shaking.

"Buying champagne? While my sister was upstairs in your apartment, desperately clinging to the last threads of her life?"

"I... I didn't know. As soon as I saw... I stopped him. I stopped him, ok?"

"No, it's not ok. I almost lost my only sister because of you. What makes you think you even deserve to be here. It's your fault she's like this. You should've stopped it sooner. It should be you in this bed, not her."

I start to protest, but I can't. She's not saying anything I haven't been telling myself these past few days. I failed Jane, and given a chance, who's to say I won't fail her again?

"Get out!" Alice demands, and I release Jane's hand and walk out the door. I can hear Jane trying to say something, but her voice is quiet and muffled behind the oxygen mask, so I can't make it out. Part of me is afraid she's saying the same things her sister just yelled at me. I couldn't stand to hear that from her, too, so I keep walking.

Halfway to the elevator, I run into Liz. 

"Eddie? What's wrong? I just met my deadline and I came to see Jane."

"She's... ok," I answer, then I stride past her. My voice, my emotions are out of control. I have to get away. 

I make it all the way through the main doors of the hospital to the outside before I stop. It's like something is physically holding me back. I can't leave Jane here. No matter what I did or didn't do, I have to be here and make sure she's ok. Still, I can't return to her room. Not with her sister there. I can't take the accusatory looks, the guilt. 

I didn't do enough to prevent Jane's injuries and then I did too much to stop her attacker. I failed Jane, and I killed a man. 

Before I realize what I'm doing, I have a lit cigarette between my lips. Ever since the first time they let me in Jane's room, I haven't left her side. I'm a heavy smoker, but I hadn't even noticed how long it'd been since I lit up. I've been so focused on Jane nothing else seemed to matter. 

My whole body is shaking so hard now that I can barely control my movements. I'm so choked up and my chest is so tight, it almost hurts. 

Why couldn't it have been me? If I could, I would've taken her place, her pain, in a second.

When I pull the cigarette out of my mouth, my hand comes away wet from the moisture on my cheeks. As soon as I realize that I'm crying, it's like a dam bursts, and I start sobbing and choking so hard I have to toss the cigarette away. There's no way I can smoke when I can barely breathe.

The tears are coming hard now, streaking down my cheeks, and my nose is starting to drip. I hate crying. I hate how out of control it makes me feel, so weak and helpless. I clench my fists to my eyes, trying to stop, but I can't. Everything that's happened these past few days is beating down on me, and I can't hold it back any longer.

**********

See part eleven.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	11. POV: Jane

Home Construction, Soul Repair

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Eleven**

**by [Khaki][1]**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Jane_

What is wrong with Alice? She came out of nowhere and just started asking me questions and yelling at Eddie. 

Of all the people I thought would come to visit me right now, she was on the bottom of my list. Not that I don't love my older sister, but I thought she was still recovering in the hospital across town. It turns out I've been here two days and she was just released. What with the weird sleep schedules and the drugs they've been giving me I've lost all track of time.

Stephen wheeled her in and she looked so pale and drawn, I couldn't help but immediately start to worry. If she was just discharged, she should be home resting, not here sitting in an uncomfortable hospital-issue wheelchair. She looks like I feel, exhausted and achy. 

I wanted to tell her I was ok, to go home and rest, but my voice is still weak, and I only got out her name before she reassured me, saying she was going to be fine.

She asked me how I got hurt, but I don't really know the specifics. Eddie'd been telling me about it when she came in, but he was pretty vague. I know there was some sort of robbery and now I'm here. 

Before I could form the words, Eddie asked her if Liz already told her what happened, and she answered, "She said Jane was almost killed in a burglary, that she needed surgery."

"I almost died?" I asked in amazement. Sure, I've felt pretty bad lately, but not dying-bad. Am I still going to die? What else is wrong with me? Why didn't Eddie tell me?

I shake myself out of my reverie and look up at him, wanting to ask my questions, but the expressions... pain, sadness, anger, frustration, and dozens more playing over his face one after another, stop me. It's only when I see his reaction that I realize Alice is still talking. She's blaming him for what happened to me.

That can't be right. Eddie would never do anything to hurt me. They both said it was a burglary or something. How could he be responsible for that? 

"It's your fault she's like this. You should've stopped it sooner. It should be you in this bed, not her," Alice says, her voice getting louder every second.

No. Stop, Alice. 

"Get out!" she yells.

Eddie gently lowers my hand to the bed and gets up. 

"Come back, Eddie," I whisper, but what with my weak voice and the oxygen mask, he must not hear me. He doesn't turn around, just walks right out the door, leaving me with a furious Alice and a calming Stephen.

"Alice, honey, relax. It's the hormones and the medicine, remember? The doctors said your body chemistry's still balancing itself out."

"Don't belittle my feelings, Stephen. My baby sister almost dies, I can't see her for two days, almost 50 hours, and you tell me the only reason I'm upset is that my hormones are out of wack?"

"The hormones and the medication."

"Eddie," I whisper, but they're ignoring me.

"Shut up, Stephen, or so help me..."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Just... you need to calm down."

"I will not calm down. I want that Eddie character banned from this room. How do we know he's so innocent? He could've faked the burglary and tried to kill Jane himself."

"How dare you?!"

Liz. She's standing in the doorway, and even from where I'm lying, I can see her eyes are practically burning with anger.

"Eddie saved Jane's life. He's been with her every second he could since he found her. How dare you come here days after the fact and fling wild accusations at him?"

"Jane is my sister, and I care what happens to her. You weren't there either. How do you know he hasn't been lying?"

"Because I talked to the police. He's been totally cleared. They don't do that unless they're absolutely sure."

"Huh," Alice huffs. "Don't you watch the news? The police are idiots."

"I know Eddie, and I believe him. From what the doctors told me, if he hadn't acted as quickly as he did, if he hadn't gotten Jane help in time, we wouldn't be here today. We'd be at her funeral."

Whoa. Do they even realize I'm here? All this talk about me dying is really freaking me out, and the drugs I'm flying high on aren't helping. My imagination has started producing all sorts of interesting images of what I'd look like dead, and it's really hard to stop when they keep talking. I don't want them here. All this arguing is giving me a headache. I just want Eddie. Quiet, comforting Eddie.

"Eddie," I say again, but still, no one hears me.

"You should be kissing his feet and singing his praises, not chasing him away," Liz says.

"Alice, honey..."

"Shut up, Stephen. I don't want to hear one more word about my condition affecting my mood." Alice says, then turns to Liz. "As for Eddie, I don't care what you think, Jane's my sister and I don't trust him. She needs her family around her, and now that I'm here, he can crawl back into whatever hole he came from for all I care."

"From where I'm standing, Eddie's been better to Jane these past months than you've ever been."

"What do you mean?" Alice asks, her eyes squinted in muted rage.

"Who gave her a place to stay when she lost her apartment? Who listened to her when she couldn't sleep? Who, more than anyone else, helped her get over Ray?"

"We only have a one-room apartment. Jane couldn't stay with us."

"And if you haven't moved, she still can't stay with you."

Alice's eyes widened at that. "She can't back to that apartment. Not after what happened."

"What do you suggest she do? Even if she and Eddie find a new apartment..."

"No!" Alice yells. "There is no way she's living with him again."

"What is going on in here?" A nurse asks as she walks in. 

I recognize her... Christine, Kristen, Kris, something like that.

"I can hear you all the way to the nurse's desk. If I have to, I will make you leave." The nurse (Kris?) looks around the room and her face draws up in confusion, "Where's Eddie?"

"She kicked him out," Liz answers, pointing at my sister.

"What was he doing in here alone with Jane in the first place?" Alice counters. "He's not family."

"Ok, settle down," Kris, yeah Kris, says. She turns to me and asks, "Jane, how are you doing?"

Finally! Someone's noticed there's a patient here with a steadily growing headache.

"Eddie," I whisper.

"Eddie. What about Eddie, Jane?"

"I want... Eddie," I force out through my aching throat.

"He'll come back. Don't worry. What about Liz and your other visitors?"

"Tired. Just Eddie."

"What?!" Alice yells, and I cringe at the volume. She's never this harsh or insensitive to my feelings. In fact, she's always been the best of sisters all my life. What's wrong with her?

"Ok, you heard her. Clear out. You can visit tomorrow."

Stephen gives me a tight smile of apology and quickly pushes Alice out the door despite her commands to the contrary. Liz walks over to the bed and pats me gently on the arm, saying, "Get better, girl, and don't worry. I'll find Eddie for you." Then she leaves, too.

**********

See part twelve.

   [1]: mailto:rimmette@earthlink.net



	12. POV: Eddie

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Twelve**

**by Khaki**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Eddie_

"Hey, you ok?"

I nod and wave away the third person to ask me that question in as many minutes. If I'd been thinking straight, I would've gone anywhere but here. Usually, New Yorkers can be counted on to ignore the strangers around them, but try to have an emotional breakdown in front of a hospital.

"What's wrong?" he asks, walking to where I'm leaning against the building.

I shake my head and wave him off again, but this guy just isn't taking the hint. It's bad enough that I'm crying so hard that I can barely catch my breath. I don't want an audience.

"You're hyperventilating," he declares, putting both hands on my shoulders and, without warning, bending me over so that I'm staring at my knees. If I hadn't had the wall to lean against, I probably would've fallen.

"Ok, slow down," he instructs, keeping one hand on my arm to help me balance while the other gently pats my back. "Take slow, deep breaths."

Who is this guy and why won't he leave me alone? I try to pull away from him, stand up and leave him behind, but he holds me down effortlessly, his deep, gruff voice repeating the instructions. Soon, I give in and start trying to obey his commands. It's just not working very well. I want to take a long breath, but instead it turns into several quick, choking gasps.

"Just calm down. Don't think about anything but your breathing. In... and out."

His voice is so close, overshadowing my thoughts. For a moment, I forget about my guilt, my fears, and just concentrate on controlling my body. 

In a few minutes, I'm finally doing ok, with just the occasional hitched breath. He releases his hold, helps me stand up, and I get my first look at my would-be savior.

He's younger than I thought, about my age, but standing over a head shorter than me and wearing a black leather coat and worn jeans. His face sports a thick beard and harsh features, but they're softened by his eyes. There's an almost gentle happiness there, tempered with concern. 

"You wanna talk about it?"

To my surprise, for a second I'm tempted by his offer. Then, the weight of my guilt comes back, settling on my shoulders as a familiar pain returns to my chest, and I shake my head.

"Fair enough," he answers, surprising me by his quick acceptance. Looking me up and down critically, he says, "You look like you need a drink. C'mon, I'm buyin'." 

He waves me towards a bar about a block away, and I know he's right. I really could use a drink. Who am I kidding? I could use a whole bottle, but I can't leave. No matter what Jane thinks about me now, I won't leave her here alone. She might not want me in the room anymore, but I have to stay close by.

"I can't leave," I answer, and then the hiccups start.

He just eyes me again, watching me hiccup like a kid after a temper tantrum. "Well, it looks like you need something. Let's go inside. I'll buy you a coffee."

He takes my hand and leads me back into the hospital and through the corridors to the cafeteria. Dumbly, I allow myself to be led along until we're standing in front of the coffee decanters. 

Why is he doing this? Doesn't he have somewhere else to be? What's he doing at the hospital, anyway? Is he a doctor? Maybe he was just arriving for work and I caught his eye. Maybe I'm keeping him from real patients that need his help. No, I decide. He's no doctor. He must be visiting a patient here, and I'm using up his visiting time.

"Sugar? Cream?" He asks, but I don't answer. I'm too distracted by my inner musings. I hiccup again, and he says, "Ok, I'll take that to mean you want it black."

He gets us both black coffees, pays the bored cashier, and leads me over to one of the tables in the almost empty cafeteria. Setting my coffee in front of me, he sits down on the opposite side and starts drinking. I expect him to say something. I'm sure he's going to demand to know what's wrong with me, but he just sits there calmly and drinks.

"Why?" I ask in between hiccups.

"Why what?" he asks, looking up at me with those incongruously gentle eyes again.

"Why are you helping me? Why do you care?"

He shrugs, and says, "I dunno. Maybe you remind me of someone."

"Who?"

He takes another sip of his coffee and answers, "Me."

"What?"

"Look, I don't know what's goin' on with you, and you don't have to tell me. I just... I remember what it's like, and I couldn't leave ya without tryin' to help. When I was like that, my Marie... That's my wife. She wasn't then. Didn't even know her then, but, anyway, she stopped and helped me out and I just... wanted to help you."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I ask, finally reaching for my coffee and taking a sip of the bitter concoction. "I mean, aren't you visiting someone?"

"I was. My wife kicked me out of the room. Sent me home to pick up a few of her things and to catch some shut-eye." At my confused look, he added, "She just had our first. A girl. Eight pounds three ounces."

As he told me about his daughter, his eyes practically shone. I could tell he was truly, deeply happy. This is what I wanted with Jane, what I thought we might start working toward before the assault. Now, I just don't know. Will she ever be able to forgive me for what I didn't do and accept me for what I did, what I've become?

My expression must've changed because the man's trying to comfort me again, repeating trite sayings that I've heard throughout my life. It's not helping. He's happy. It's not his fault that my life's fallen apart. 

I wonder what'll happen when Jane's released. Where will she go? I want her with me, but that's not likely now. Besides, she'd have to return to the apartment. Just the thought of going back there makes me shiver. The blood's still there, blood and... other stuff. I can't bear the thought of having to clean that up myself. I don't even want to think about it.

The man's hand is resting on my arm now and he's stopped talking. He must've realized it wasn't helping and instead satisfied himself with sitting in quiet support.

"Eddie!" a voice shouts across the quiet cafeteria, and we both look up to see Liz running over to our table. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Why?" I ask, confused.

"Jane's asking for you."

"But her sister..."

"Forget about Alice. I don't know what's going on with her. Jane kicked her out. She knows that nothing that happened is your fault."

"Some of it is," I answer in a whisper.

"What?" Liz asks loudly.

"I... the guy that was trying to kill her... I... He's dead. I... I stopped... I..." I can't say it. I can't force out the words that I killed him. 

"Good for you," the gruff-voiced man responds.

"What?" I ask in surprise.

"You killed him. Good for you."

"What?" I repeat, dumbstruck.

"You said he was tryin' to kill your girl."

"Yeah."

"Well, then." he says, nodding at me. "You did the right thing."

"But... I'm a murderer," I answer, looking back and forth between him and a strangely quiet Liz.

"No, you're not. Would you have rather he killed her?"

"No!"

He sits back, satisfied with his argument. "Go on. Go see her."

I get up and walk towards the exit with Liz silently following me. Right before I leave, though, I turn around. "Thanks," I say to the man still sitting with our coffees.

"Don't mention it," he answers.

-----

When I walk into Jane's room, her face transforms into a relieved smile.

"Hey," I say, smiling back at her.

She simply reaches out her right hand towards me. When I walk over to the bed, sit down, and gently grasp her hand, she lets out a contented sigh and relaxes back into the pillows. Not five minutes pass before she's sound asleep.

**********

See part thirteen.


	13. POV: Jane

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Thirteen**

**by Khaki**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Jane_

When I wake the next morning, Eddie's still sitting next to my bed, still holding my hand, as if even when I was asleep, he wanted to reassure me of his presence. He's snoring lightly, slumped back into the chair with his head resting against one shoulder at an angle I know he'll soon regret.

My left hand and my ribs ache, but I don't have the heart to release his hand and find the morphine button on my IV. It's a dull pain; one I can endure until Eddie wakes up.

His jaw's clenched, the muscles of his face taut, as if even in sleep he can find no rest. The flesh around his eyes is puffy and almost bruised by dark circles. 

How long has it been since he's slept a full night? Every time I've woken up, he's been there, ready with soothing hands and comforting words. I have him, Liz, family, friends, doctors, and nurses all doing what's best for me, but is anyone doing anything for Eddie?

He's suffering. Yesterday, when I asked him how I got hurt, he could hardly force out the words, and then when Alice came... I have to call her. How could she be so purposefully cruel? In my whole life, I've never known her to do something like that. And Eddie. When she blamed him, practically yelling accusations, I saw it in his face, his eyes... He broke. It wrenched my heart, the pain expressed in every movement as he turned and left.

Even then, even when it would've been so much easier to just leave me here, he came back. He sat down, smiled at me with reddened eyes, and held my hand until I fell asleep. How can I ever deserve someone so wonderful?

The door whooshes open, breaking the silence, and a cheerful voice calls, "Good morning, Jane. And how are we feeling today?"

I pucker my lips trying to shush the nurse, but it's too late. His snoring's stopped. A moment later, he lets out a groan and reaches a hand up to rub at his probably very stiff neck.

The nurse, a new one with long red hair braided down her back and a smile so saccharine, I'm sure I'll develop cavities before the end of the day, ignores my hateful glare and begins studying my chart.

Eddie's still massaging his neck with one hand, but he's looking at me now, his features even more haggard than when he slept.

"Hey. How're you doing?"

I nod to him and answer, "Better," with a gravelly voice.

"You need anything? Some water?"

"Water will be fine," the nurse interrupts in a chirpy voice. "It'll help with our walk later."

"Walk?" I ground out.

"Yes, Dr. Roberts has cleared you to go ambulatory. Of course, before you can do that, we have to remove your catheter," she says, reaching down and flinging the covers back so that only my feet are covered.

"Hey!" I yell. Ok, so my throat's sore, and I can't really take a full breath without pain, but that made me mad. I'm lying here, probably looking the worst I have in my life, and she whips off my blankets right in front of Eddie. I'm spread out so flat that I can't even tell if this joke of a hospital gown is pulled down far enough to keep Eddie from seeing everything God gave me.

"What are you doing?" Eddie demands of Nurse Nicey-Nice while I'm using my good hand to feel around for the bottom hem of my gown and see if I can't pull it down further.

"It's ok," she answers Eddie and then turns to me. "It's ok, sweetie. There's a 'do not disturb' on the door, and it's not like he's never..." She shrugs. "...seen you before. Now if you'll just move your hand..."

"No." That's just the point. He never has seen me completely naked, and I really don't want this to be his introduction. 

"Hon, if I don't take it out, walking's gonna be pretty uncomfortable," then her voice, although still friendly, turns firm, "and the doctor wants you walking today." 

"But..."

"Do you want me to leave?" Eddie asks, his eyes focused completely on me.

Well, if she's really going to do what I think she's going to do, then yes. And no. I really don't want him to see me like this, but...

"Will it hurt?" I ask the nurse.

"Some patients have found it... uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable. I've heard that word before. It means "damn painful, but it passes quickly." These medical types have a talent for understatement.

My decision made, I look back at Eddie. "Can you stay?"

He smiles and nods before scooting the chair even closer to me.

I look down at where the nurse is waiting and then back into his eyes. 

I release the protective hold I had on my gown and say, "Just... don't..."

"I understand." he says, taking my now free hand. He lifts it and kisses my fingers. "I won't."

Then, I feel air on my bare skin, and the nurse gets to work.

-----

I discovered not two hours later that probably the worst thing about getting a catheter out is that you've got to get out of bed to pee again. With broken ribs and a trussed up arm, it's quite a production just getting me on my feet.

First, the nurse wrangled a sling over my head and good arm. I know she was trying to be gentle, but my ribs sent twinges of pain every time I moved. 

After the sling was in place, she released my arm that resembles a padded erector set more than a part of my body from the traction above my bed. Getting it into the sling around my neck was another few moments of misery. Two pins holding my bones in place stick out past the bandages, and even though they're attached to each other with a fixator, when they get caught on the fabric of the sling, it still hurts like hell. 

Eddie tried to help, but mostly all he could do was watch. That is, until I had to sit up. With a bad arm on the left side and bad ribs on the right, I can't really leverage myself up without help. Kimberly, the redheaded wonder nurse, got on one side and told Eddie to get on the other. Then, holding onto my shoulders, they pulled while I grunted and pushed, and, oh yeah, "ow"ed myself up. 

"Ow ow ow OW ow ow OW OW ow." Don't ask me why, but the muttered mantra really seemed to help me get moving. Also, when I raised my voice during particularly painful shifts, Kimberly and Eddie reacted by being more careful.

Finally, finally, I sat up. Then, all it took was swinging my body around so my legs hung over the side of the bed and sliding down over the edge to get on my feet.

It's weird to be standing after days flat on my back. I feel dizzy, and I can't quite find my balance. If I fall now, without my arms to catch me, it's really gonna hurt.

Kimberly puts a surprisingly strong arm around my waist and leans in to support me, while Eddie takes hold of my good arm on the other side. Then, with Kimberly pulling the IV tree along, the clumsy dance to the bathroom begins.

It's only a few feet, but I'm still pretty proud of myself when we reach the door. Of course, my entourage and I can't fit through the way we are, so Kimberly turns us sideways and we shuffle through like a slow, bedraggled chorus line.

That's such a funny mental image, I want to laugh. Then, I see my reflection in the mirror, and I want to cry. 

Both of my eyes are blackened like I've been punched, the bruising standing out in sharp contrast to my pale, drawn face. In fact, every inch of exposed skin I can see sports a variety of bandages, bruises, and abrasions.

I already knew my arms were bruised, but my shoulders, my jaw... my neck. My neck has a little square bandage covering where the breathing tube used to be, but the rest of the skin is exposed. I can see two, purple, overlapping handprints enveloping my neck. The thumbprints are in front, but as I turn my head in the mirror, I can see where the fingers wrap around to the back. The skin of the bruise is swollen, standing out like a tenderized tattoo.

It never really hit me until this moment. Oh, I'd heard Alice yelling that I'd almost died and I'd been shocked, but until now, it didn't really seem real. I've always considered myself a nice person. I mean, who would ever hate me enough to actually want to take my life? But standing here, seeing this, it's undeniable. Someone actually wrapped their hands around my neck and tried to kill me. Kill me! Poof, no more Jane.

"C'mon, honey, we're almost there," Kimberly encourages, but my feet are frozen to the tile.

I can feel and see tears welling in my eyes, and when I look at Eddie's reflection, his eyes are equally moist.

"Jane," he says in an unsteady voice. "You survived. That's the important thing."

"But..." I release his hand from my grasp to gesture at my reflection in the mirror. "I almost."

"You didn't," he says, leaning in to kiss me gently on the hair above gauze wrapped like a sweatband around my head. "And I thank God every second of every day that you didn't."

"Besides," Kimberly adds with a bubbly voice. "The scars will hardly be noticeable in a few years."

Scars? A few years? What?

"What scars?"

For the first time, I see a chip in Kimberly's perky personality as she searches for a positive spin on what she'd just said. 

"You know, your hand... You can't expect to have surgery without getting a scar. That and your trach scar will..."

"Trach scar?" Eddie jumped in.

"Yes, the tracheotomy... To help her breathe." She looked back at me. "It's a small scar, and after a few years, most people don't even notice. Besides, as long as you wear tall collars, turtlenecks, or scarves, no one will even see it."

My neck will be scarred for the rest of my life? Every time I look in the mirror, every time Eddie sees me... we'll never be able to forget.

Eddie. What if he doesn't want a girlfriend with scars? Damaged goods.

Damaged...

Oh, no. 

I don't like where my mind is going, but looking at myself in the mirror again, the injuries stand testament to the ferocity of my attacker. 

Attacker.

While he had me down, did he... I can hardly force myself to think the word, let alone ask Eddie or the nurse. 

Would they tell me even if I asked? Have they been keeping it a secret to protect me, hoping that my memory of that night doesn't return? Did anyone even check?

Was I raped?

**********

See part fourteen. 


	14. POV: Jane

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Fourteen**

**by Khaki**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

**********

_POV: Jane_

"Jane, scars don't matter. You're going to get better and everything will be ok," Eddie says, nodding at me in an attempt to be reassuring, but his tired eyes reveal doubt and sorrow.

I can't ask him. He couldn't tell me even if I did. He hasn't been able to the past few times I've asked him what happened to me. If I question him about this, it'll only hurt him more.

Wordlessly, I look at the toilet and then at Eddie before cocking my head towards the doorway.

"Right... I'll just be outside, then."

I force a smile and then turn away, walking towards the toilet with Kimberly at my side, ready with support if I stumble. After a few steps, she moves away from me and grabs some sort of plastic bowl off the back of the toilet. Then, she lifts the seat, attaches the bowl to the rim, and sets the seat down again.

"What are you doing?"

She turns and says, "Oh, we monitor your fluid intake and output until you leave the hospital."

"You measure my pee? Why?"

"We want to ensure your kidneys are functioning properly."

"But I didn't hurt my kidneys, did I?"

"No, but you did have surgery and you were on a renal catheter. It's just a precautionary measure," she reassures, while urging me to turn around and sit. "Besides, if I know Dr. Roberts, you'll be checking out by the end of today anyway."

"I'm going home today?"

"Not on my say so, but I bet you will." She winks, gives me a toothy smile, and walks over to the doorway. "Just call when you're ready to come out, ok, hon?" she says as she steps out of the bathroom and shuts the door. 

I'm alone, alone for the first time in days. I've been told so many things in just the past few minutes, though, my mind can hardly keep up. I've been horribly beaten, scarred for life, possibly raped, and now I'm going home to the place where it all supposedly happened. How should I feel about that? What can I do?

When I glance at my good hand resting in my lap, I get an idea. If I was raped by the same person that tried... tried to kill me, there'd at least be bruises, right? Without a second thought, I reach down and pull up the bottom of my hospital gown, trying not to upset my ribs in the process.

I look down and a massive bruise meets my gaze, a bruise running from my right hip, up my side, and disappearing under my gown, a bruise that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with why my ribs hurt. Everywhere else, there's nothing but pale, unmarked skin, no hand-shaped bruises like there was on my throat, in fact, no wounds at all. I was almost killed, but I wasn't raped.

-----

"Jane?"

It's not until I hear Eddie's worried voice that I realize I've been in here a while. My ribs are throbbing, and as I take a shaky breath, the pain stabs up my side like knife points. My face is wet with tears, and I can't stop crying. 

They're tears of relief because I wasn't raped, tears of sorrow because I've been forever marked, tears of pain because of my wounds, and tears of grief for what this situation is doing to Eddie and me. Is there any hope for the relationship I want, the relationship we might have had if I wasn't injured? Will he ever look at me the same way again, or will he only see the reminders of the attack? Will there ever be a time when I don't see pain reflected in his eyes?

"Jane, I'm coming in."

"No!" I cry out, then take a few shallow breaths, trying to control my wavering voice. "No. I'm... ok."

I gingerly wipe the tears from my cheeks and lurch up to my feet. Using my IV stand for support, I lean over and slam the toilet lid closed before washing my hands and shuffling to the door. I don't have it open more than a crack before someone on the outside pulls it out of my grasp. Eddie.

He hurries to put an arm around me for support, admonishing, "Jane, you shouldn't be walking without help."

"There's nothing wrong with my legs. I'm just a little wobbly."

"He's right, sweety," Kimberly adds, her chirpy voice grating on my nerves. "You don't want to re-injure yourself right when you're gonna go home."

Eddie's head snaps up, and he asks, "What?"

"Well, it's still up to Dr. Roberts, but from her chart, it looks like she's on track to check out at the end of the day."

"I've got to go."

"Eddie?"

"I'll be back to pick you up, and I'll get Liz to stay with you until then, but if you're coming home tonight, I..." He pauses for a moment, then says, "You do want to come home with me, right? If you don't... If you want to live with your sister..."

"Eddie, home is with you... right?"

He closes his eyes and releases a relieved sigh. "Right."

"At least wait until Dr. Roberts does his rounds before you go," Kimberly advises.

-----

The doctor did clear me, though. He took out my IV that morning, and at a little after 5 p.m. that night, Liz and Eddie helped me into a cab.

I thought I might be at least a little apprehensive when I walked into the apartment again, but I wasn't. I guess that's the good thing about amnesia. Besides, Eddie was nervous enough for all of us.

He insisted that Liz and I wait by the door, and he walked through the apartment, checking every room and every possible hiding place before we were allowed to cross the threshold.

As I walked to my bedroom, I scanned the apartment, looking for any evidence of what must've happened that night. I don't see any differences, though, until I catch a glimpse of the entertainment center against the far wall. The cabinets that had covered the lower section are missing. That must be where it happened. A chill ran through me at that thought, but I shrugged it off and kept shuffling towards my room.

Liz helped me get settled in bed while Eddie patrolled the apartment yet again, this time checking and rechecking the locks on the doors and windows. When it became apparent that I could barely keep my eyes open, Liz left. I settled into the long-desired comfort of my own bed and fell asleep.

Now, I'm awake again, and I don't have to look too far to see why. Eddie's sitting in a chair right next to my bed. He must've been watching me sleep.

"Jane, do you need something?"

I squint, but he's still there looking at me expectantly. "What are you doing here, Eddie?"

"Making sure you're sleeping all right."

"I'm fine. Aren't you tired?"

"Can't sleep."

"Have you even tried?"

He shakes his head. "Look, don't worry about me. You're the one who just got out of the hospital."

"Yeah, but I've been sleeping." A yawn interrupts me, but then I add, "I'm ok, Eddie. Go to bed."

-----

He left my room that night, but from the sounds of feet walking across the wooden floorboards and locks clicking open and shut that woke me later that night, I don't think he went to bed. In fact, I don't think he's really lied down and slept more than a few hours in the past two days I've been home.

Tonight, I threatened to lock him in his room if he didn't get a decent night's sleep, and it seemed to work. At least, he didn't wake me by roaming around the apartment. No, he woke me in an entirely new way.

I'm in the middle of a very pleasant dream when I suddenly wake to the sound of panicked moans. After leveraging myself out of bed, I abandon any ideas of putting on my sling and instead just walk to Eddie's room with my arm held close to my chest.

With the dim light flooding in from the hallway, I can see Eddie's trapped in some sort of nightmare. He's grunting and shaking his head and twisting his face into a mask of pain. I can't just abandon him to the dream.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and shake his shoulder with my good hand. In an instant, he's awake. He sees me, yells, "No!", and reaches under his pillow. Then his body snaps up, and his hand swings out from under the pillow and towards my head. I instinctively lean back, but it doesn't make any difference. His hand doesn't hit me. It stops inches away, and I'm face to muzzle with a loaded gun.

**********

See part fifteen.


	15. POV: Eddie

**Home Construction, Soul Repair - Part Fifteen**

**by Khaki**

For disclaimers, etc., see part one.

Author's Note: Thanks ever so muchly to Maya for giving me her insights on NY real estate.

**********

_POV: Eddie_

I can't believe they're kicking Jane out of the hospital so quickly. It hasn't even been two days since she had major surgery on her hand, not four days since she almost died, and they're sending her back to where it all happened?

When Dr. Roberts cleared Jane to be discharged this afternoon, I followed him into the hallway. There, I asked him what the hell he was thinking. Jane could barely walk without help. How could he let her check out so early?

He answered, "Her legs are unharmed. She's just unstable because she's been lying on her back for several days. We'll have her sit up for the rest of the day and try walking a few more times."

"But..."

"She has healed well from the surgery. There's no sign of complications. I have no reason to keep her here."

When I saw he wasn't going to budge on his opinion, I thanked him and walked back into Jane's room.

"Eddie?"

"I have to go," I answered. "Liz'll be here soon, and I'll be back. Don't worry."

Now that I'm faced with the reality of Jane returning to the apartment, I have to get it ready. Last I saw it, there was still blood on the floor. Plus, at least one of the guys that hurt Jane's still out there and the cops haven't got a clue who he is. They even think he might be someone who lives in or is familiar with the building. I can't let her return without making certain that our apartment's secure.

When I get there, I've got to talk to the super and get some new locks on our door. 

Oh, and on the way home, I have to buy some new locks for the windows. I don't think I'll be able to take off the old ones, but there must be some sort of attachment I can get to secure them better.

And alarm systems. I'll have to check out the cost of alarms. Neither of us has a job, and they can be pricey, but my savings should cover it.

We should get a dog, too. A big guard dog. maybe one of those killer rottweilers.

That reminds me, where'd I put my gun? I bought it years ago. Is it still in my closet? No, wait, Becca didn't like it so I hid it in the cupboard behind the condensed milk. I'll have to buy a box of .38 bullets today and move it back into my room.

-----

The door to our apartment's open when I reach it, and I can hear someone moving around inside. I'm immediately on guard, but when I reach the threshold, I can see Victor, the super. He and another guy are pulling out the nails I'd hammered into Jane's privacy blanket. 

Dammit! I'd completely forgotten about him. Of course, he'd want to check out any damage caused during the burglary. Of course, he'd see what I'd done to the wall after Becca left me. I'd been lucky to keep him out of the apartment all this time, but now he knows.

The guy he has with him is a few inches shy of my height, but Victor's shorter and heavier. He's standing on a chair to get at the nails on his side. It's when he grabs onto the chairback to get down that he sees me.

"Alden, how the hell did this happen, and don't tell me the burglars stopped to bash down your wall and cover the hole with a blanket."

"Listen, Victor, I'll fix it."

"The hell you will. This is Dan," he says, indicating the man who'd been helping him. "He's contracted to fix this damage, and guess who's gonna pay him."

I let out a sigh. "Me."

"You're damn well right. You're lucky this isn't a weight-bearing wall."

"Look, Victor. Money's tight right now, what with Jane..."

"It's only because I feel bad for that girl of yours that you aren't getting evicted. Count your blessings, pay Dan the deposit he's asking, and I'll give you your new set of keys."

"You changed the locks?"

"Yep, and got the floors cleaned and Dan'll fix that big dent in the bedroom wall. My insurance'll cover what the burglars did to the apartment, but as for your stuff, I hope you have renter's insurance."

I nod. I've got insurance, just have to find the papers so I can file a claim on what was taken.

"Well, then that's settled." After a pause, he turns to the other man. "Dan?"

Dan hands me an invoice. Two hundred dollars down and who knows how much it'll be once he's done. I guess an alarm system's going to have to wait. I pull out my wallet and write him a check.

"Jane's coming home from the hospital today. When are you going to start working? Will we have to leave?"

Dan shakes his head. "Can't get started today. I'll come back Monday morning. And you shouldn't have to move out, but you might wanna move Jane into your room until I'm done."

He holds out his hand and I give him the check. Then, Victor gives me the keys, and both he and Dan leave.

-----

The blood came out of the couch and ottoman with a lot of soap and scrubbing, but the wood on the entertainment center's cabinets had seemingly soaked the blood into the grain, and the stain wouldn't come off no matter how hard I worked at it.

I sat on the floor in front of the last evidence of my murderous actions, guilty, disgusted, frustrated, but most of all, angry. I was furious at the man who'd tried to take everything from me that night. Who, with the stubbornness of his blood, was still trying to rob me of any illusion of a safe home. I had to get rid of it, but it wouldn't come off.

Eventually, I just grabbed the cabinet door itself and pulled, grunting and yelling in my rage. The door broke at the hinges, leaving pieces of wood behind. I stood up, ran to the window, and threw the door in the general direction of the dumpster with a roar of triumph.

That felt good, and when I walked back to the entertainment center and looked at my handiwork, well, it had gotten rid of some of the stains. The TV and the top shelves didn't have doors covering them, so why not get rid of the doors covering the bottom shelves, too?

I went and found my tool kit before returning to work, unscrewing the hinges and removing the rest of the doors.

That done, I walked over to Jane's room. Her belongings were still in disarray from the burglary, but they all seemed to be there. I spent the next hour putting everything back into the places I remembered it and tidying up.

Then, I spent the rest of the time I had installing new window locks throughout the apartment, cleaning, and putting everything back as it had been before, or at least as close to it as I could get.

-----

I can't do this. It was hard enough being in the apartment with Jane in the hospital, but now, with her here, I'm terrified something's going to happen to her. I can't help checking the locks every few hours even though I know for a fact I've checked them before and they've always been ok. Still, I can't help thinking that if I stop checking there might be one I've missed and whoever was here before will use it to get in and hurt Jane.

Even then, even if everything's locked up, they got in before, didn't they? The police didn't see any sign of forced entry. Some of the windows were unlocked, and they could've gotten in from the fire escape, but what if they didn't? Also, what if even with everything locked up, they break their way in? We can't afford an alarm system. If I'm not awake, they could come in and kill Jane, and I wouldn't even know about it.

I wish we could move out, but even if I had a job, leaving behind a rent-controlled apartment in Manhattan would be insane. I've felt this way before, when Becca left me. I just knocked down the wall, brought home all sorts of nameless one-night stands, maybe drank a little too much while I was in the apartment, but I didn't move. 

In fact, I want a drink right now. It's been days since I've had anything stronger than coffee, but I just can't. What if I do and I fall asleep? I'll leave Jane unprotected. In fact, I've barely slept in days, and when I have, it's on the couch in the main room with my gun hidden under a pillow at my side, no further than an arm's length away. I'd rather sleep in a chair in Jane's room, but she says it keeps her from sleeping so this is the best I can do. If someone comes through the door or one of the windows, I'll be ready.

"Eddie?"

I turn around to see Jane standing in the hallway between our two rooms. I'm on my feet and walking towards her in seconds.

"Jane, you shouldn't be up? What's the matter? What do you need?"

She just stands there and looks me up and down before saying, "How long has it been since you've slept?"

"Last night."

"No," she says, meeting my eyes with a concerned expression. "Really slept. A full eight hours."

I look down and run one hand through my hair. "You know me. Sometimes I just can't sleep."

"Eddie, you look terrible." That's my Jane. We've never been anything but honest to each other. She continues, "I have some sleeping pills. Would you like..."

"No, I'm fine. Really. I was just getting into this book." I look over towards the couch, trying to see what book I'd been leafing through. "And I can't stop until I at least finish the chapter."

"That can wait until tomorrow," Jane says, grabbing hold of my arm with her uninjured hand and turning me towards my room. "Tonight you need a nice, long sleep in your own bed."

"But, Jane, I..."

"Eddie, I am not spending another night listening to you wander around the apartment. If you don't lie down, I'm gonna lock you in there and make you lie down, I swear."

"Ok, ok," I answer, holding up my hands in surrender. "Just let me get my book." She frowns at me and I add, "It'll help me fall asleep."

I walk back to the couch, picking up the book and my gun, using the book to hide it. Then, I walk back towards Jane and turn into my room.

"Goodnight," she says.

"'Night... Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?"

"I'm fine, Eddie. I'm going back to bed now. You get some sleep, ok?"

"'k."

-----

I fell asleep. I didn't mean to, but just lying down made all the stress in my body just drain away.

The nightmare returned. One of many that've been bothering me since the attack. Just another reason why I've avoided sleeping. They returned, men surrounded by darkness so I couldn't see who they were. They'd tied me up and now were hurting Jane right in front of me. I struggled, but I couldn't stop them. Couldn't do anything to help her.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and I startled awake, only to see another dark figure hovering over me. I'd stop them this time, wouldn't let them tie me up, wouldn't let them get to Jane. I reached under my pillow, retrieved my gun, and aimed it at the head of the shadowy figure. Then, I pulled the trigger.

**********

TBC.


End file.
